The Things We Carry
by KatjaLaRoux
Summary: It started at the Deep Roads. There were some slightly flirtatious texts. Then the Chantry in Kirkwall—and Marian Hawke's life—exploded. Quite literally. / Inside, the air felt just as thick, but now instead of smelling like fish and piss like the streets of Kirkwall, it smelled like sweat and smoke. Marian wasn't sure which was worse. (Modern AU. Eventual fHawke/Nathaniel Howe.)
1. Deep Roads

_**A/N:**_ I got this idea about the Deep Roads being a totally crappy club. And then this happened. 12k words of _this_ happened, to be specific. I'm not totally sure what _this_ is other than Hawke dealing with a whole lot of emotions in a weird, modern Act 3/Post-Game world without magic. But she's kind of a still a mage. In a way. It'll make sense later. I think. I hope.  
Starts in the Deep Roads, where Hawke meets Nathaniel Howe. I'll give it a few chapters. Let me know what you think, so I know if it's worth continuing.

* * *

Marian hunched her shoulders and pulled the collar of her leather jacket up against the fog. The air was thick and wet. Like most nights in Kirkwall. She could hear a muffled refrain coming from one of the bars she passed. One of the bars she avoided, not because of the live music but because of the crowd. The one Lowtown bar that catered to Hightown snobs wanting a taste of how the other side lived.

She turned the corner and made her way down the quiet, dark alley. If she hadn't been there before, she might have missed the entrance to the Deep Roads. The only sign that there was anything there was a small neon light, a red arrow pointing at a slightly off angle, above the door. No sign. No bouncer. Just a dark door in the middle of a dark alley. The arrow flickered intermittently.

Inside, the air felt just as thick, but now instead of smelling like fish and piss like the streets of Kirkwall, it smelled like sweat and smoke. Marian wasn't sure which was worse. She hated Kirkwall. Always had. But she hated the Deep Roads even more. The only reason she'd agreed to come was because Carver had sounded so bloody eager on the phone.

She understood. She really did. It had been nearly three months since she'd called him to let him know that she had broken things off with Sebastian. In truth, she and Carver hadn't always been that close. There were times growing up when they didn't even _like_ each other. But sometime after moving to Kirkwall, after Carver's twin, Bethany, died, after Carver joined the Grey Wardens, they'd started to talk to each other like normal human beings, if not siblings. Then when their mother had died unexpectedly, they'd actually gotten to be quite close. The last of the Hawkes.

And when she'd walked away from Sebastian, Carver was the first person she'd called. The conversation started with her laughing hysterically about Sebastian's "chaste marriage" proposal and ended with her sobbing about having forgotten who she was. Poor Carver just listened and promised he'd come visit as soon as he could. With his job, though, that meant three months. He'd called to say he'd be in town for work. He and his team, or some of them, would be staying an extra night. To blow off some steam. And Carver wanted her to come. She knew he meant well. She knew he was worried about her. She'd been mopey ever since her break up. And Carver just wanted to try to cheer her up the only way he knew how. With booze.

She pushed her way through Deep Roads, keeping an eye out for her brother but mostly looking for an empty table at the back. Somewhere she could sit, drink, and keep out of sight. She was not in the mood to be hit on or chatted up by some annoying blogger. After ordering a beer, she settled on a stool at one of the hightops in the back and looked around the club with a frown. She _really_ hated the Deep Roads. It was probably the darkest, dirtiest club in Kirkwall. Its saving grace, if you could even call it that, was that they had a decent beer selection. And the music was at least tolerable. Not like that dubstep crap the Bone Pit was always playing.

She unzipped her jacket and raked her fingers through her hair, reminding herself that she still needed a haircut. She hadn't cut it since she'd left Sebastian. Then again, she hadn't done a lot outside of her little flat since she'd left Sebastian. She took a swig from her beer and texted Carver to let him know where she was. She was sure he was on the dance floor somewhere. He'd find her eventually. She wondered how long it would take her to talk him into going to a different club or bar. Maybe the Hanged Man. She also hadn't seen much of Varric or Isabela since she'd split with Sebastian. She felt a little bit guilty about that. Lost in thought about her friends, she didn't notice the guy step up next to her.

"You're Carver's sister, aren't you?"

Marian jumped at the voice that appeared next to her. She tried to play it off with a small cough and a nod of her head. She wasn't sure if it worked.

"I still admit that on occasion." She eyed the guy as she answered. Tall, long, dark hair pulled back at the temples, stubble, and a long, aquiline nose.

"Right," he said, lips curling into a crooked smile. "I'm Nathaniel. Nate. I work with Carver."

Marian took his offered hand and shook it. She recognized that name. Older, by-the-book Warden, tragic family history, also from Ferelden.

"You're the roommate, right? It's nice to meet you. Marian Hawke." Then she chuckled. "But you knew that already."

They made small talk for a few minutes. They established that he was, in fact, Carver's roommate, also a Grey Warden, and also from Ferelden and that she was, in fact, the Champion of Kirkwall and the one responsible, at least in part, for Carver's recruitment to the Grey Wardens.

"Did you want to sit down?" She asked, waving her hand at the empty stool next to her.

"Ah, I was actually headed to get another beer when I saw you. Would you like another?" He gestured at her bottle.

She picked up and gave it a shake. It was nearly empty. She hadn't actually realized she'd drank that quickly.

"Sure," she shrugged and reached for her wallet. But Nate had disappeared before she could pull it form her pocket. As she looked for him in the crowd, she found Carver instead.

"Annie! There you are." Carver draped a sweaty arm over her shoulder. "Why are you hiding in the back? Doesn't that defeat the purpose?"

She couldn't help but grin up at her brother. It had been nearly a year since she'd seen him last. He always had been big, built like an ogre. But he seemed even bigger now, any trace of baby fat completely gone and replaced by thick muscle.

"Maybe I was hiding from big, sweaty oafs like you?"

"Oh, shut it," he said, grin never leaving his face. "I thought you were coming out tonight to get drunk and dance and forget about that self-righteous piece of shit. But you're back here moping?"

"I'm not moping." She poked him in the side. "And I wasn't thinking about him until you brought him up."

"Maker's balls. Sorry, Annie."

Just as Marian was about to mention having met Nate, he appeared just off of Carver's shoulder and set two cold beers on the table.

"There you are, Nate!" Carver grinned.

Marian watched Carver's eyes narrow as they darted from the bottles and back up to Nate.

"You bought my sister a beer," he said, his tone somewhere between a question and an observation and just a little suspicious.

Nate just shrugged. And Marian rolled her eyes and said, "You always were a sharp one, Carver Hawke."

"And for that…" he winked at Marian just before grabbing her fresh beer and drinking a quarter of it in one swallow. When he set it back on the table, he pointed at Nate. "We're trying to_ not_ let her mope tonight. Can you do that?"

"Go dance, Carver." Marian shrugged his arm off her shoulder. He flashed her another grin and darted back out to the dance floor.

"Maker, I think I liked him better when he hated my guts," she sighed.

Nate chuckled and slid onto the stool next to her. "I have a hard time believing he ever hated you. I've only ever heard good things."

"He used to be such a grump. All the time. He used to grumble about being in my shadow, like I was holding him back on purpose." She shook her head and gestured to the dance floor. "It's strange to see him like this. Happy. Trying to take care of me."

Nate was quiet for a moment, taking a long drink from his beer, looking out over the dance floor.

"He was pretty surly when I first met him, I suppose." Nate said, his voice thoughtful. "But we see a lot in our job, you know. And he's good at what he does. And I think he…grew into it." He paused for a moment before adding, "And I think he's worried about you."

Marian picked at the label on her beer bottle a little unsure of how to respond to that, wondering just how much Carver talked about her.

Nate interrupted her thoughts, asking, "So why exactly are you not allowed to mope tonight? Is it related to the 'self-righteous piece of shit' he mentioned?"

Marian nearly choked on her beer. "You heard that?"

"I did." His lips twitched at the corners.

"Yeah. That's one of many names Carver has for him."

"If it helps, he calls my ex the Abomination." He gave a slight shrug as Marian let out a laugh, and he added, "And like most of his nicknames, it was deserved. He turned into a bit of a monster at the end, really."

Marian caught both the gender of Nate's ex and the hint of resignation in his voice. She held out her beer.

"To getting over men who deserve Carver's nicknames, then."

He smiled and tapped the neck of her beer bottle with his own and took a swig.

The fell into easy conversation after that, sharing stories about growing up in Ferelden, the disgraced son of a disgraced politician who joined the Wardens because he had nowhere else to go and the oldest daughter of a starving artist just trying to get by. But, as always, the conversation came back around to Marian's title. She cringed inwardly as Nate asked what the "Champion" had been up to recently.

"I haven't seen much in the news," he commented.

"I…haven't been working much recently." She admitted. "Well, at least, not working like that. I stopped doing portraits and such for the wealthy families of Kirkwall a few months ago. I'm just teaching art at the orphanage right now. But I do occasionally work for the City Guard. Facial composites, sketches of suspects, that sort of thing."

"You make it sound like those are disappointing jobs."

"Do I? Maker, not at all. I actually love teaching. And the stuff for the Guards is good, it's meaningful work. Much better than some of the bullshit I've done in the past, marketing and commission pieces for nobles. It's just that's the stuff most people know me for. Hawke. Champion." She shrugged, knowing she was dangerously close to bringing up Sebastian again. "I'll never get away from that blighted statue down at the docks. But you can't say no to the Arishok."

"No, I suppose you can't," Nate chuckled.

"I'm hungry," Carver announced, interrupting their conversation as he marched up to the table again.

Marian smiled up at her brother. "Hanged Man?"

"Hanged Man," he nodded.

"Hanged Man?" Nate asked, arching an eyebrow at them both.

"Beer's closer to water than beer, the only things edible are deep fried, but it's Annie's favorite."

"Way to sell it, Carver." Marian laughed.


	2. Hanged Man

The Hanged Man was Marian's favorite hangout. Though Carver was right about the piss poor ale and the greasy food. But still, the Hanged Man felt like home. It was the dive she'd spent her time in back when she was working for Red Iron Marketing for peanuts of a paycheck. It was the bar she'd met her two best friends in Kirkwall. And it was one of the only places in the city where everyone knew her and didn't give a shit that she was the Champion. She liked the place so much, she'd bought a little one bedroom flat just down the block, even though she could have afforded a much bigger, much nicer place in Hightown.

They hadn't stepped more than a foot into the Hanged Man before Varric spotted her and swooped in.

"Maker's breath, Hawke! I haven't seen you months—is that _Junior_ with you?"

He ushered them to his table in the corner and ordered everyone a round. Marian quickly slipped into her old spot at the far end of the booth, Nate and Caver slid in across from her, and Varric pulled up his usual chair at the end of the table. It was only a few seconds later that Isabela appeared from somewhere on the other side of the bar and scooted in next to Marian.

Marian had spent hundreds of nights in that booth with Varric and Isabela. Others had come and gone over the years, but Varric and Isabela had always stuck by her side. Other than Carver, they were the only two people in Kirkwall she truly trusted anymore.

While Carver handled introductions, Marian checked the two new text messages on her phone. And Isabela, nosy as ever, leaned over and saw Sebastian's name there.

"Oh, kitten," she said, loudly enough to get everyone else's attention, "I thought you were done with him."

"Who? Choir Boy?" Varric asked from the other end of the table, lip curled up like he smelled something foul.

"He just texted me, that's all." She set the phone on the table in front of her, watching as the lit screen flipped to black and wishing Isabela hadn't said anything about it.

"You're still talking to him?" Carver asked, eyebrows high on his forehead.

"No," she said firmly. She shook her head and looked at the phone. "He just…checks in every once in a while." She tried to shrug it off and idly spun her phone with her finger a few times.

"That's the problem, you know. He won't just go away. He's like…a bad rash." Isabela nodded. "Every time you think you've gotten rid of him, he comes back with a vengeance."

Varric leaned forward on his elbows, catching Marian's eye. "You made the right decision, Hawke. You've got—"

"Wait," Nate interrupted. "This was your decision?"

"You didn't hear the story?" Varric said, leaning forward with a grin.

"Varric…" Marian groaned.

Norah brought their beers and a couple of baskets of fries just as Varric launched into his story.

Girl meets boy. Girl falls in love with boy.

"At first, the guy's a regular Prince Charming," Varric said, leaning back in his chair with his beer in one hand.

Carver snorted, "Yeah, that didn't last." But Varric just ignored him and continued.

"But he's really religious. He's a Chantry brother, but he's renounced his vows for whatever reason. But he's still 'devout.'" Varric made the air quotes with his fingers and shook his head before continuing. "It turns out he doesn't really approve of his new girlfriend's friends and their drinking and card playing. And while he claims to appreciate her art, he doesn't really like that she spends so much time working with the more unsavory folks around town. He wants her to only do the Maker's work."

Isabela chuckled and chimed if, "The Hawke we met all those years ago would have probably punched him if he'd try to tell her what to do with her art."

"True," Varric nods. "And maybe our prince knows that, so he's sly about it. And he strings her along for six years. And she follows all the rules, plays all his little games. For. Six. Years. And then he decides to go back."

"To the Chantry?" Nate asked with a small frown.

Carver sneered and nodded. "Then that self-righteous lacquered pilot whale piece of shit has the nerve to ask her for…what was it, Annie? A chaste marriage?"

Marian groaned and put her head in her hands, not wanting to participate in her own humiliation.

"A chaste marriage? After being together for six years?" Nate arched one eyebrow.

"We were never together…like that," Marian mumbled into her hands, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks.

"You should have known there was something wrong when he told you he wouldn't sleep with you, kitten."

"Are we really having this conversation?" Marian sighed and dropped her hands, trying to look anywhere but at Nate or her brother, settling on a spot on the table.

"Yes, Hawke. If he's texting you, and you're even thinking of replying, we are definitely having this conversation," Varric said pointedly.

Isabela slung her arm over Marian's shoulders and said, "We just want to see you happy, kitten."

"I know," Marian leaned into her.

"And you've been really unhappy," Varric added.

"I know," she repeated, nodding this time.

"For years, Hawke," he added.

"I know, Varric." She sat up and met his gaze. "Can we stop talking about what an idiot I am now?"

"The only reason I won't call you an idiot is that you left him," Carver said.

Marian shrugged, "And now he won't leave me alone."

"Here," Carver reached for her phone. "Let's drop him a hint."

"Don't." Marian snatched it back before he could get to it.

"I wasn't going to text him. _You're_ not going to text him. I just think we should take a picture of everybody, post it, and tag you. That way that puffed-up Chantry prat will see that you've returned to your wild, wild ways." Carver grinned mischievously.

"When did you get so devious, Junior?" Varric chuckled.

Carver's grin widened into something bit more menacing. "I'm cleverer than I look."

Nate snorted at that but slid his phone across the table to Varric. "Everyone on one side?" He suggested.

Varric called Norah back over to have her take the picture. The server took two shots, returned Nate's phone, and disappeared to pick up another round of drinks.

"Send that to me, and I'll post it," Carver said when they returned to their spots.

"Will you send it to me, too?" Marian asked. Nate nodded, and she gave him her number. While he texted the picture, Marian made an effort to turn the conversation away from her.

"Varric, you know how you keep talking about writing a book about a Grey Warden, but there are too many secrets? You've got two right here you can harass for information."

Satisfied at the eager gleam in Varric's eyes, she slouched down in her seat and propped her feet on the bench across from her. She checked her phone. When Isabela nudged her with her elbow, Marian tilted the phone to prove she was just looking at the picture Nate had sent, not texting Sebastian back. Surprisingly, it was a good picture. Isabela had her arms around both Marian and Varric, a sultry smile on her face. Nate and Carver were behind them, leaning over the back of the booth, Carver making a ridiculous duck face and Nate with a lopsided grin, his eyes turned ever so slightly in Marian's direction. Marian looked up at her brother and his friend, who were now trying to answer Varric's onslaught of questions without actually answering them.

She watched as Carver snorted at some comment Varric made while Nate chuckled next to him. Nate had told her that Carver was good at his job and that he'd grown into it, but watching them now, she wondered how much of Carver's grumbling had been tempered by Nate's influence. There was something similar about the sort of calm confidence they both had.

"Your brother certainly has…filled out," Isabela purred in her ear.

"No, Isabela," she groaned. "Just…no."

"Spoil sport," she laughed. After a moment, she slid her arm around Marian's shoulders and whispered, "His friend is cute though."

"I…hadn't noticed." Marian had, of course, noticed. And by the way Isabela chuckled, her friend probably knew that she'd noticed.

"He has pretty eyes," Isabela added. "Do you think he likes pirates? Or Champions?"

Marian rolled her eyes. Nate was Carver's friend and a Grey Warden. She was probably off-limits in some silly unspoken rule about dating someone's sister, and she knew from talking to Carver that Wardens and relationships didn't often mix. And Nate's ex was male. And there were a hundred other complications, not the least of which was the fact that she wasn't really looking for anything herself, so none of this mattered. It didn't matter that his chuckle sent a whirlwind of butterflies scattering through her stomach or that he did, in fact, have pretty eyes. Of course, she was sure that was just the beer talking.

She leaned into Isabela and whispered to her friend, "It doesn't matter, Is."

She turned her attention back to the conversation, which had shifted away from Warden secrets. Varric was instead regaling her brother with one of his Champion stories, one of the ones where he makes it sound like Marian's art saved dozens of lives. When Varric's story got completely outrageous, she shook her head and corrected him. "There were no dragons involved, Varric."

"My story, Hawke. Not yours," Varric admonished her.

Marian let out a huff of air, adjusting her feet on the bench across from her, and closed her eyes. She was just about to correct another point of Varric's story when she noticed a slight weight on her ankle. She cracked one eye open and looked across the table at Nate. He was clearly paying attention to Varric, but his hand was resting on her ankle. She could barely feel it through the thick leather of her boot, but it was definitely there.

She shifted her attention back to Varric, who had launched into one of the ones that she actually liked. It was before she was given the "Champion" title, before she had to think of how her actions would look in the media, before Sebastian's influence took over. Back when Hawke was just an artist with an uncanny eye for detail who liked to mess with the Templars.

Marian had always enjoyed making Templars' lives more difficult, but Kirkwall's Templars were particularly vile. Their job, really, was just to identify and monitor the Gifted and, occasionally, pull in children whose Gifts were deemed either useful to the Chantry or dangerous. But in Kirkwall, the Templars were overzealous under Knight-Commander Meredith's rule.

As Varric reached the end of the story, his eyes were locked on Nate, the only one who hadn't heard it before.

"So what does Hawke do? She draws a poster of him beating up on one of the kids. Makes a couple hundred copies and plasters them all over the walls of Kirkwall. It was beautiful."

Marian smiled ruefully. "Too bad everyone prefers kidnappings and car bombings these days."


	3. Coffee

Marian was wide awake, curled on her side, listening to Carver snore next to her. She wasn't the least bit surprised when he'd asked to crash at her place. And based on the exasperated sigh that Nate only partially concealed, Nate was under the impression that this was the plan all along and was unaware that Carver hadn't actually _asked_ her. He'd even apologized to her as they walked the two blocks from the Hanged Man to her little flat. She'd just laughed.

"I was expecting it. My baby brother is nothing if not predictable."

And while it was true she was expecting Carver, even having pulled a box of his old clothes from the top of her closet for him, she wasn't really prepared for a second guest. Then again, her apartment was never prepared for that, which is why Carver was taking up three-quarters of her bed. Nate was sleeping on the couch, a thought that brought a small but involuntary smile to her face. The moment she realized she was smiling—and _why _she was smiling—she mentally kicked herself. The night before, she'd blamed the beer, but now she realized she was probably just lonely. Before she spiraled into a complete mess of self-pity, she shook off those thoughts.

Coffee quickly became the most prominent thought in Marian's head. The kitchen was on the opposite side of the living room, meaning she'd have to sneak past Nate without waking him up. Unless, like Carver, he could sleep through a thundering herd of brontos.

She gave Carver another half-hearted shove, just to see if he'd move at all, before rolling out of bed and crossing the living room as quietly as she could. Once in the kitchen, she started the coffee pot and settled into the blue chair, her favorite of the mismatched set crowded around the little table. She pulled her feet up underneath her and turned on her phone.

Four new messages. Three from Sebastian. One from Isabela. She read that one first.

_I: Tell your brother he should visit more often._

Marian rolled her eyes. Instead of reading Sebastian's messages, she opened up the picture Carver had posted and scanned the comments there. She cringed when she saw the caption he'd put on the picture, announcing that she was "on the market." Then she saw the friend request notification. From Nathaniel Howe. She felt the same small smile creep across her lips. Maybe she was lonely. Or maybe there was genuinely something about Nate. Before she had a chance to give those thoughts much purchase, a voice appeared next to her.

"How long have you been up?"

Marian jerked her head up to see Nate leaning against the door jamb.

"How long have you been standing there?" She countered.

He shrugged and walked over to sit across from her at the table.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" she asked.

He shook his head then nodded his chin at the phone. "Anything good?"

"Some of your friends…or Caver's friends...want my phone number. Since I'm 'on the market' and all," she said dryly and held the phone out to him.

"Hm. Yeah, I wouldn't bother with any of these guys, if I were you," he said as he scrolled through. "Well, maybe Faren. He's decent." He shrugged then said, "You have some unread messages here."

Marian sighed, "I know. It's Sebastian. I don't know if I want to read them."

Nate arched an eyebrow. And she found herself momentarily distracted by details in his face that she hadn't noticed in the dim lights of the Deep Roads or the Hanged Man. He had fine lines around his eyes and mouth, the only sign she'd really noticed that he was about five years her senior. There was also a long, thin scar underneath his right eye. She still thought he had pretty eyes. Pretty, soft grey eyes with long lashes that should have contradicted the square angle of his jaw and prominent line of his nose. But she found the combination striking.

When she didn't respond to his question right away, he pressed. "Why not?"

That snapped her back to the conversation and brought a faint blush to her cheeks. Flustered, she stumbled through her reply.

"Oh. Sorry. Um. I guess if I read them, I'll be more likely to answer him. Especially if he's worried. Which he probably is, since I didn't respond last night. But I should check them. In case it's actually something important."

Wordlessly, he handed the phone back. She opened the messages.

"Wondering why I'm not responding. Wondering if I'm okay. Oh. This is nice. He saw the picture online. And is happy to see I'm out with my brother. But disappointed that I let my brother flaunt my availability like I'm a piece of meat. Great." She dropped the phone to the table and pushed it away.

"I'm sorry, Marian." Nate said, shaking his head.

She let out a huff of air. "It's fine. I…" She tapped her fingers on the table, frustration slowly mounting, and didn't finish her thought.

"It's not fine." Nate said, voice somber. "Not really. It's manipulative. You didn't reply right away, so he throws an insult at you. To try to force you to respond. The Abomination used to try to control things like that all the time." He shook his head at the memory.

Marian blinked at him, considered what he was saying, and realized he was right. She spent years watching Sebastian hide his condemnation behind a sad smile or bury a dictate beneath words of encouragement, manipulating others with his image of a sophisticated and serene Chantry brother. She hadn't even noticed him doing the same thing to her until the last few months they were together. She picked up her phone again and deleted the messages.

"You have a lot of postcards," Nate observed suddenly.

Marian followed his gaze. The kitchen cabinets were old and painted a shade of green reminiscent of mushy peas. Rather than repainting them, Marian had just plastered them with postcards, pictures, and pages torn from cookbooks.

She breathed a small laugh. "Isabela travels a lot."

"Is that Carver?" He stood quickly and crossed the room to look closer at a pencil drawing taped up near the refrigerator.

"It is," she said as she followed Nate and stood next to him. "Carver and Bethany. The day we went to see our first professional wallop match." She smiled wistfully at the memory.

"Denerim Buccaneers." Nate nodded, his eyes still on the picture, squinting slightly. "Carver told me the story…you drew this?"

"I did," Marian said quietly. Nate did turn to her then.

"The drawings Carver's got at home are all cartoons, caricatures. I've seen the portraits, in the news and all. But this is…" He turned back to the drawing. "I thought it was a black and white photo until I got up close."

"Carver didn't tell you?" Marian was a little surprised. From the previous night's conversations, it was clear Nate and her brother were close. She wondered why he wouldn't have mentioned this detail.

"That you were Gifted? I suspected, based on the stories I've heard. But no, he never told me."

He had turned back to her as he spoke, and on seeing her confused expression, he added with a small, knowing smile, "If everything else I know about your family is true, Carver was probably trained to _not_ tell people."

"He was. I guess I just assumed…" She shook her head, a little bemused. Carver was still trying to protect her, even though they lived in different cities. And she realized that he probably would be offended that this surprised her. She chuckled. "Even with my title and pseudo-celebrity status here, no one really _knows_. Well, Varric and Isabela. And a couple of other friends we used to…ah, get into trouble with back in the day." She gestured at the picture. "I have Eidetic memory. Some people call it photographic memory, which is not quite accurate for how it works. Although since my outlet happens to be art, it calling it photographic makes a bit of sense."

"So those stories Varric told last night, the posters, the graffiti…you really did all of that?"

Marian looked carefully at Nate, trying to read his expression. She was used to not trusting people with those stories and that information. Varric's stories were often just this side of fantastic—if not completely ridiculous—so she didn't worry about _him_ telling the stories. But to baldly admit the laws she'd broken and the trouble she'd caused was a completely different matter. But Nate had a faint smile and a hint of amusement in his eyes, and Carver trusted him.

So she nodded.

"Maker," he chuckled. "There are some Gifted in the Wardens and some old friends of mine who would probably love to thank you for some of that."

Marian shrugged, pulled two mugs from the cabinet and poured coffee as she spoke. "And there are quite a few Chantry devotees and Templar-sympathizers who would probably love to see me thrown in Aeonar for some of that. Or worse."

Nate frowned and asked, "The bombings and kidnappings…we hear about them, of course, but…how bad are things here? Really?"

Marian sighed, "Bad. Getting worse." Marian passed Nate a mug and pulled out the milk from the fridge. She offered it to him first, and when he shook his head, she poured a splash in her own mug, then sat back at the table, speaking the entire time.

"There was a girl who got caught escaping the Gallows last week. She didn't even have an identifiable Gift. She was just really smart. But they executed her because they said…well, _Meredith_ said that they needed to make an example of her. She was eight."

"I heard about that one." Nate sat across from her, still frowning.

"Did you also hear about the retaliation?"

He shook his head. "I'm sure the Wardens assigned to keeping an eye on things here have, but I'm not officially involved in that."

"Three days ago, someone threw a couple of Molotov cocktails at the front window of a Templar's house. While he was having dinner with his family."

His frown deepened. "That…wasn't in the news."

"I'm not surprised. They keep covering things up. It's not the first time. And I'm sure it won't be the last. I may dislike the Templars as an organization, and I know the corruption in their ranks runs deep, but that kind of violence is...it doesn't _do_ anything but make people more angry. The Templars will take out their anger on another Gifted kid…and covering it up only makes the revolutionaries try harder to get someone's attention…and it just…._escalates_."

Marian let out frustrated sigh and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, Nate was watching her with concern. She continued talking.

"I've seen the manifesto circulating. The 'Mage Underground,' they call themselves. Or at least, that's one of the groups. If Meredith and Orsino keeping brushing things under the rug, if the Grand Cleric keeps ignoring what's happening, if someone doesn't start making some kind of compromises…this whole city is going to go up in flames."

Marian's words hung heavy in the air of her little kitchen.

Nate held her gaze for a long moment then said, "Perhaps we should be keeping a closer eye on you and the situation in Kirkwall."


	4. Texts: Tell Him Yourself

For two weeks, Kirkwall saw a rare stretch of sunny days. Even in the middle of summer, that much sunshine was unusual. The evening out with Carver turned out to be the kick in the ass Marian needed, and she found herself going out more often. She still avoided Hightown, where she was most likely to run into Sebastian, but between teaching at the orphanage, meeting Varric and Isabela for drinks, and the occasional walk through the Lowtown market, she was almost feeling normal again.

She would have successfully pushed Nate out of her mind if Isabela hadn't consistently asked about him. That was, of course, Marian's fault. If she had never told Isabela about the awkward exchange she'd had with Carver when he and his roommate left that afternoon, Isabela probably would have forgotten all about meeting Nathaniel Howe.

But, no. Marian made the mistake of mentioning Carver's mischievous grin when Nate gave her a farewell hug. And then she'd made an even bigger mistake when she showed Isabela the text message exchange she'd had with Carver immediately after.

_M: Not trying to play matchmaker, are you little brother?_

_C: Not on purpose._

_C: He's a good guy._

_M: Did you miss the part where he dates men?_

_C: Women too. I'm not an idiot._

_C: But get over pilot whale first._

And Isabela wouldn't shut up about the whole situation until Marian finally told her to, threatening to withhold information about Carver's next visit if she didn't.

Just when she thought she'd be able to forget about the silly little crush she'd developed, Carver brought Nate up. Marian was sitting at one of Kirkwall's few outdoor cafés, relishing the warmth of what was forecasted to be the last day of sunshine for months, when she got the text message from Carver.

_C: Nate says hi._

_M: Really Carver? Knock it off._

_C: Really. He asked how you were doing._

_C: How are you doing?_

_M: Tell Nate I'm good. Tell yourself to stop being an idiot._

_C: Pilot whale?_

_M: Haven't been in touch. _

_C: Good._

She couldn't help but smile, both at the thought that Nate was asking about her and at her brother's concern. And she was grateful Isabela wasn't there to ask what she as smiling about. But then she pulled herself back to the reality of the situation. Carver's roommate. Grey Warden. Not even in Kirkwall. Very likely not interested. She swallowed the smile, drank the last of her glass of wine, and headed home.

Two weeks later, the orphanage where she was teaching art classes did a career week. One of her students drew himself as a Grey Warden, complete with the dark suit, sunglasses, and gun. Before she left the orphanage that afternoon, she took a picture of the drawing and texted it to Carver.

After three days, he still hadn't responded. She sent another text, to follow up, but got nothing back. It wasn't too unusual. His job took him to places where he couldn't always respond. But three days was a long time. She tried to convince herself to wait one more day, but once she started thinking something might be wrong, she couldn't let go of it. And she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep.

Trying to push back the anxiety that was building in her gut, she scrolled through her contacts. She didn't know if Carver had ever given her a number or a name in case something happened. Nate was the only person she could think of, but then she remembered he'd texted her the picture from the Hanged Man. She found his number and sent him a message.

_M: Hi. This is Carver's sister. Sorry to bug you. I haven't heard from him in a few days. Getting worried. Any news you can tell me?_

She tried to read while she waited for a response, but after twenty minutes, she realized she'd been staring at the same sentence the entire time. She sighed and closed the book. Just as she checked her phone for the tenth time, as if it might forget to chime if a new message came in, she got her response.

_N: Hi. He's fine. He got hurt and was out of commission for a bit, but he's fine. I'll tell him to call._

_M: Thank you. _

For a minute, she debated whether or not to say anything else, but her concern and curiosity got the better of her.

_M: Were you with him? Are you okay?_

_N: I was. I got lucky though. I'm okay. _

_N: How are you? Aside from worried._

_M: Good. Better now. Sometimes I hate his job._

_N: I know. Sometimes I hate it too. _

_M: Thanks again. Sorry to have bothered you. _

_N: Not a bother. Good to hear from you. _

She couldn't think of a reply to that, so she just left it alone. A few minutes later, she got a call from Carver. He sounded tired, but he reassured her he was fine and apologized for not calling. And for getting hurt. And said he loved her. That's when she knew it really had been bad. She wanted to text Nate again, to ask how bad. But talked herself out of it.

A week later, as she was walking back from another worthless meeting with Meredith, she heard from Carver again.

_C: Have you heard from nate?_

_M: No. Why? Is something wrong?_

_C: No. He asked how you were doing. Told him to ask you himself. Wondered if he did._

_M: No. He didn't. Tell him I'm good. _

_C: Tell him yourself._

Marian snorted a laugh. When she got back to her apartment, she pulled up Nate's number.

_M: I'm doing good._

_N: Ha! Your brother's an ass. I'm glad though._

_M: You?_

_N: Good. It's been quiet since the thing with your brother. _

_M: Quiet is good. _

_N: Yes, it is._

She thought a bit before sending her next message, fingers hovering over the screen.

_M: You know you can text me, if you want. You don't have to ask carver._

_N: Noted._

But she didn't hear anything from either of them for another couple of weeks.

She did, however, get called into the City Guard's office to do a facial composite of a man who had left a bomb in a trash can in the Chantry courtyard. So she talked with the two witnesses who had called the guard and worked up a sketch. And on her way out, she ran into Sebastian. If she'd seen him on the stairs, she might have tried to turn the other way. But it was too late.

"Hawke. How are you?" He smiled down at her.

"Fine, Sebastian. You?"

"I'm doing well. The Grand Cleric has asked me to accompany her to Orlais. It's quite an honor." He paused and looked at her, head tilted just slightly to one side. "You look tired, Hawke."

She heard both the question and the hint of accusation in his statement and wondered if he was trying to find out if she'd been out drinking again. She exhaled slowly and kept her voice level.

"I'm fine. I've been working, doing a sketch for the Guard. Those can take a long time, you know."

"Ah. It's good that they have you though. You're a good person, Hawke." He smiled a little sadly then, and Marian felt a twinge of guilt. But then he said, "I'm glad I haven't seen pictures of you out again. You're so much better than that. I've been praying for you. I'm glad you're focusing on the Maker's work again."

The twinge of guilt was replaced by a surge of anger. She was right. He was trying to figure out what she'd been up to. She wanted to tell him he didn't need to pray for her, that she didn't think the Maker cared if she drank or not, that she could go out and do whatever she wanted. But she just smiled and thanked him politely and made her exit.

As soon as she was outside, she texted Carver.

_M: Pilot whale says he's been praying for me._

_C: Seriously?_

_M: Seriously. Ran into him at the keep. He was still mad about the pic you posted that night._

_C: Go out with Varric and Is and take more._

_M: Maybe you should come back and come with me._

_C: Maybe I should._

She did go out with Varric and Isabela that night. She drank a lot and stayed out too late, but no pictures were taken. When she left the Hanged Man, she was still feeling restless, the afternoon's frustrations still buzzing under her skin. She went home and rummaged through her art supplies. When she found a can of white spray paint, she tucked it into her pocket. Then she zipped her jacket up high, pulled the hood up over her head, and headed back out.

Marian wound her way through back alleys and side streets until she reached the back wall of the Chantry courtyard. She knew exactly where the bomb had been found. While she was grateful it had been spotted before it went off, the fact that it was being dismissed was maddening. Even the guard who had called her in admitted the sketch was just a formality for the sake of the witnesses. They wouldn't really investigate. They were worried about frightening the good people of Hightown.

Even as Marian waited patiently in the shadows for the guard's shift change, she knew her work would most likely be scrubbed off before too many people saw it. But hopefully someone would see it. Hopefully someone would understand.

As soon as the late night guard turned towards the Keep, Marian stepped out of the shadows and darted to the spot next to the trash can that had almost been blown up. Focusing on speed rather than style, she scrawled a few short lines from the Canticle of Threnodies across the stone wall.

She knew the lines were out of context. And she knew painting them wouldn't really make her feel better. But she still hoped someone would understand.

_By your will  
All things are done.  
Yet you do nothing._


	5. Texts: Be Careful

It had been two weeks since her half-assed message to the Chantry. It had lasted about half a day before being meticulously scrubbed off. She'd spent that day sitting in the Chantry courtyard with her sketchbook, watching people read the lines, looking for some kind of reaction.

It was wholly unsatisfying. Not because they didn't react—a few did smile ruefully or nod in agreement as they walked by—but because the longer she sat there, the more she realized that her half-drunk accusation only added to the problem. Painting a few lines to antagonize the Chantry may have been a lot safer than a bomb, but it was no more productive. She'd left the courtyard feeling unsettled and cranky and walked home only to find a message from Orsino asking for her help.

That little invitation, however, led to a larger responsibility than Marian ever wanted. She got dragged into a public argument between Orsino and Meredith. It was the same debate the two politicians had been circling around for years. Neither mentioned the kidnappings or bombs or manifestos. Just the Gifted. And how they should be "handled." What the laws allow and didn't allow. What the laws _should_ allow and _shouldn't_ allow.

Marian's pseudo-celebrity status somehow made her opinion important, so when the reporters spotted the Champion in the crowd, they pestered her for an interview. There was so much about the situation that she hated—and not just that she kept getting dragged into the middle of it just because she made a name for herself with some of her artwork. She desperately wanted to say that humans should be treated like humans and hope that was enough. But she didn't say it because she knew it _wasn't_ enough. She knew it would only fan the flames.

Instead, she smiled politely and pushed her beliefs aside. She aimed for diplomacy. She tried to encourage compromise and call for peace. Of course, the Champion was just a title. It didn't give her any real power. But that didn't mean she wouldn't _try_.

After the interview, she shoved her hands deep in her pockets and trudged back to Lowtown and the Hanged Man, wondering if she was just as bad as the Chantry. Varric tried to tell her there was a difference between being willfully ignorant and trying to get people to work together.

A week after the interview, she still wasn't sure she believed that. She was watching the rain fall slow and steady from the relative warmth of Lirene's café when she heard from Nate for the first time in over a month.

_N: Carver got hurt again, but he's okay. I wanted to let you know. Just in case._

_M: Thank you._

_N: Of course. How are you?_

_M: Fine. You?_

_N: Good. _

She sighed as she reread the short conversation. Her instinct was to ask what happened, even though she knew he probably couldn't tell her. But after a minute, she decided asking wouldn't hurt.

_M: You can't tell me what happened can you?_

_N: Actually I can. It wasn't work this time. Bar fight._

She snorted out a laugh and ignored the looks from the people around her.

_M: Really?_

_N: Really. _

_N: We were defending you._

_M: I wasn't there._

_N: Thing on tv about you. Interview. There was a jerk at the bar with a big mouth. _

She wondered what some stranger could have said about her to make Carver start a fight. But as she thought about the options, she decided she actually _didn't_ want to know what was said about her. She opted for a snarky response instead.

_M: There's always a jerk at the bar with a big mouth._

_N: Are you upset?_

_M: No. _

_M: Was it the interview in the Gallows?_

_N: Yes. _

_M: Ok._

_N: Why did they interview you? I didn't catch the beginning._

_M: Politics. Orsino and Meredith. They keep dragging the "Champion" into it. _

_N: Maker. I'm sorry._

_M: Thanks. _

_M: And thanks for defending me. I think._

_N: Are you okay? That can't have been easy._

_M: Yeah. I'm fine. Just feels like I'm going to make enemies, no matter what I say._

_N: Be careful._

Two days later, she finally heard from her brother.

_C: Heard what happened. You ok?_

_M: Fine. Are you?_

_C: Just bruises. Nate's worried about you._

_M: I really am fine. Been taking my taser with me to the orphanage. In case I pissed someone off._

_C: That's wrong in so many ways._

_M: What? Why shouldn't I be allowed to shoot lightning at fools?_

_C: Think of the children._

_M: I promise I won't aim at them._

_C: Pilot whale?_

_M: Nothing to report, ser._

_C: Good._

Another week passed with little actual news but a whole lot of rumblings and rumors before she heard from Nate again.

_N: Hi._

_M: Hi._

_N: How are you?_

_M: I'm fine. Stop worrying._

_N: I wasn't worried._

_M: Liar. Carver told me you were._

_N: I hope he doesn't tell you everything I say to him._

_M: Why? What are you saying to him?_

_N: Nothing important._

_M: But important enough that you don't want me to know?_

_N: Something like that. _

_N: Anything new?_

_M: No. _

_N: Good._

It was only a few days after that Meredith enlisted the Champion's help. Marian grumbled all the way to the Gallows to meet with the woman and grumbled all the way back to Lowtown as she started looking in on these supposed "revolutionaries" Meredith was concerned about.

It was a ridiculous project. Marian knew Meredith was hoping she'd see these particular revolutionaries as dangerous and side with the Templars. Marian also knew it was Meredith's not-so subtle attempt to get someone to gather information for her on the people fighting on behalf of the Gifted. She tried to shrug off the transparent machinations and made her way to the landing near the docks where these revolutionaries were meeting. Even though her involvement was at Meredith's behest, maybe she could do something useful.

The rain had let up, but the sky was still dark. And even before Marian made her presence known, she could tell it was a bad idea to get involved. The guards standing nearby looked uncomfortable and twitchy. The leaders at the front of the group, a swarthy young man with a beard the size of a small child and a tall, lanky blonde woman, looked on edge. Marian waved politely and approached them, but they immediately started arguing with each other in hushed whispers. As they argued, the tensions in the crowd rose. One rock was thrown and things quickly fell apart, the small rally turning into a full blown riot before the Champion even had a chance to speak to anyone.

After bandaging the cuts on her face and shoulder, Marian texted Carver.

_M: Two people died today. When I was trying to help. _

_C: Maker's balls. You ok?_

_M: Yeah. _

_C: Do you need me to come?_

_M: No. Thanks though._

_C: Tell Nate you're ok. He's on assignment. He'll hear news and worry._

She bit back the smile that thought brought to her face, even though no one could see her. It took her a few minutes to figure out what to tell Nate.

_M: Before you hear news from Kirkwall and worry…I'm okay._

It was a couple of hours before she got a response.

_N: We got the reports. You weren't hurt?_

_M: Just some scratches. Nothing major._

_N: It sounded bad._

_M: It was. A total disaster. I shouldn't have been there. I hate that people think I have some kind of magical powers to fix these things._

_N: Are you really okay?_

_M: I think so. _

_N: Be careful._

_M: You, too._

She went to bed that night feeling more than a little uneasy, wondering what she could have done differently to keep things from escalating the way they did. The next morning, Nate texted her again.

_N: They tell me dolphins are a good omen. Sharing the good omen with you._

And then he sent a picture. Of dolphins. She could stop herself from grinning and set the picture as the background on her phone.

_M: Where are you? Am I allowed to ask? _

_N: The dolphins were near Estwatch. _

_N: I hope you're okay._

_M: I am. Thank you._

He texted her again the next day but late at night. This time he sent a picture of the sunset over what looked like open ocean. There were two gulls flying by. And the clouds were purple. She made a mental note to show Isabela the picture—she was always talking about sunsets at sea being the best kind.

_N: Sunsets are the only good thing about boat trips._

_M: It's probably a ship, not a boat._

_N: Says the girl with the pirate friend._

_M: At least you know she's not lying about being a pirate. _

_N: The boots looked real._

_M: I'll tell her you said so._

_N: Do that._

The next day, one of her students drew a picture of a knight fighting a dragon. She took a picture of the drawing and sent it to Nate.

_M: He said I was the knight. And the dragon was all the bad guys in Kirkwall. _

_N: I don't think you're that tall._

_M: Thanks for that._

_N: And can you fight with a sword?_

_M: I can. But I prefer using magic._

_N: Of course you do. _

_N: Speaking of bad guys in Kirkwall…?_

_M: Another car bomb early this morning. But no one was hurt. _

_N: That's good._

A few days after that, Marian got inadvertently caught up in more riots. She was just walking by the two groups, but when she realized what was going on, she couldn't ignore it. She tried to help. Her efforts were unsuccessful.

After Marian got home and showered, washing off the soot and grime from the street, she texted Carver.

_M: I hate Kirkwall._

_C: What happened?_

_M: Riots again. Three more dead. A kid this time._

_C: Shit. Maybe you should leave._

_M: Maybe. _

_C: If you need me let me know. You know I'll come._

_M: Thanks, Carver._

The next day, Nate texted another picture. This one was of a giant apple tree.

_N: Back in the Marches. _

_M: Welcome home._

_N: Thanks. I hate boats._

_M: Ships._

_N: Those too._

_M: Successful trip?_

_N: Yeah. Good one._

_M: Good._

_N: I heard there's been more trouble._

_M: There has._

_N: They showed you making a speech._

_M: That was before the rioting started._

_N: The news said you were trying to calm people down. _

_N: You looked good up there. _

_M: Careful. Too much time on a boat can mess with your head._

_N: Ship._

_M: That too. _

_N: Are you okay?_

_M: I didn't get hurt._

_N: Not what I meant._

_M: I'll be okay._


	6. Last Straw

It was one of those rare, clear nights in Kirkwall. No wind, no fog, no rain. Marian was getting ready to go to bed when she realized a clear sky meant stars. Aside from her walk to and from the orphanage, Marian hadn't been outside all day. She pulled her jeans and sweater back on, jammed her feet into her boots, grabbed her leather jacket, and headed outside. Pausing just in front of her door she looked up at the faint pinpricks of light scattered across the night sky. Like most things it Kirkwall, even the stars seemed sad and broken. They were nothing like the bright clusters she remembered from Ferelden, and if Isabela was to be believed, Ferelden's stars were dim compared to what could be seen from a ship in the middle of the Amaranthine sea.

Marian dug her hands into the pockets of her jacket and looked around the empty street. Not for the first time, she silently wished for an excuse to leave Kirkwall. Maybe she should just ask Isabela to take her on a trip somewhere. Surely the pirate wouldn't turn down the opportunity to travel, especially on someone else's sovereign.

She was dawdling just outside the Hanged Man still looking up at the sky when she saw the flash of red and felt the ground shudder. Marian knew she should have run home, but her feet took her in the direction of the Gallows, knowing that's where they'd be expecting the Champion to be.

The Gallows courtyard was full of people. Templars. Gifted. City Guards. Panicked Kirkwallers from all quarters. As Marian scanned the crowd, she saw flashes of familiar faces—Sebastian, Cullen, the boy from the flower stand, the hostess from the Blooming Rose. As soon as the crowd saw the Champion, they shoved her to the front where Orsino and Meredith were shouting at each other. The Chantry was destroyed. Hundreds, at least, were dead. Orsino blamed Meredith and the Templars. Meredith blamed Orsino and the Gifted. And Marian heard the voices behind her, demanding the Champion step in and solve it.

She looked helplessly from Meredith to Orsino and back, wishing one of them would realize she was just a bloody artist. But no one did. So she tried talking to them. At the very least to get them to realize that their shouting at each other was only going to make things worse. Her pleas were interrupted by screams and shattering glass. When Meredith and Orsino both ran for safety, Marian turned back to the crowd, but things devolved so quickly, it was all she could do to get out of the Gallows before people starting lighting things on fire.

Marian called Carver. She barely got a word out before he said he was on his way.

She ran back to Lowtown, knowing the City Guard would focus on Hightown first. She didn't know how long she spent wading through the streets, trying to keep people calm, organized, safe.

And when she heard the cracks of smaller explosions and angry shouts echoing off the walls around her, she tried to focus on just getting people out of the path of the mob. As clusters of rioters crashed through the streets, she was no longer the Champion. She was simply another body in the way.

Marian was just reaching out for a small girl when she got thrust to the side, the group descending on them faster than she realized they would. She huddled against the wall and waited for them to pass before looking for the girl again.

Her eyes were burning from the smoke and ash, and her stomach was in knots as chaos swirled around her.

It felt like minutes. Or maybe days.

She almost didn't notice Carver until his arms were around her, trying to help her up.

"Come on, Annie. There's nothing else you can do."

"But I have to _try_. I have to..." She tried to shove his arms away, her eyes focused on the little girl lying motionless in the street.

"No, Annie." He held her tightly and spoke in her ear. "Please. Just come with me."

"But I'm the _Champion_," she sobbed, whatever had kept her steady that long finally breaking.

"I know."

And when he pulled her this time, she came without a struggle.

He dragged her away and put her into the back of a black SUV. She pulled her thighs up against her chest and laid her head against her knees. She was vaguely aware that she wasn't wearing her jacket anymore, which meant she'd also lost her phone and her keys. But she knew these were small things compared to losing an entire city. Her mind drifted, thoughts blurring underneath her tears, and she tried to focus instead on the sound of road speeding underneath her.

When she noticed the car stop moving and the door open, she was stiff and sore. She leaned heavily against Carver as he walked her across a quiet parking garage, through a set of double doors, and into an elevator. She kept her eyes on her feet the whole time. Carver said nothing, but he didn't take his arm from around her waist until after he'd led her down a winding hallway and into a brightly lit room.

She looked up when she heard the television, catching the reporter's hurried voice, hearing "explosion" and "fires" and "bodies." And she saw Nate standing in front of the television, arms folded across his chest, watching the images of Kirkwall burning.

She blinked at him when she realized he was wearing sweatpants and a thin t-shirt. Then she looked around the room and took in the bookshelves lined with books, the Denerim Buccaneers pennant hanging above the television, the stuffed griffon she'd given Carver when he was prompted from Warden Recruit to full Warden. His apartment.

Nate turned when he heard the door click shut behind her and her brother.

"I got your text, Carv—_Marian_? What in the Void is going on?"

"Someone blew up the Chantry," Carver said as he eased Marian into a chair and knelt in front of her. She met her brother's gaze and saw the deep crease between his eyebrows and the grim line of his mouth.

He was worried. She didn't like seeing her baby brother worried. She needed to pull herself together, to be strong for him. So she forced a smile and said, "You brought me home."

"I did," he nodded. But he didn't smile back. "Can I leave you here for just a minute? I'm going to make a quick phone call. Okay?"

"Of course. I'm fine, Carver."

He frowned at her, and she couldn't keep her smile in place.

"Maker, Carver…what did I…it all went so _wrong_." And her vision blurred as the tears returned. Carver simply leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

"I know, Annie. But you're okay now. It's going to be fine."

She wanted nothing more than to stay there, in the safety of Carver's steady arms, forever. But she couldn't block out the reporter's voice.

"…_absolute chaos here in Kirkwall. The death toll is estimated to be in the hundreds, but we won't know for sure…"_

Marian pulled away from Carver, rubbing her hands over her face. She couldn't bring herself to actually look at the television, so she just closed her eyes and listened.

_"…guard have been trying to regain control of Hightown, but the looters have armed themselves…"_

"It's gotten worse," Carver said.

_"…Cleric is presumed to have been killed in the initial explosion, and witnesses are reporting the deaths of both First Enchanter Orsino and Knight-Commander Meredith…"_

"Maker's breath," Nate exhaled.

_"…was seen trying to help the injured but reportedly was taken away in a dark car. Many are wondering if the Champion was somehow involved…"_

"Shit," Carver spat.

Marian finally opened her eyes to look at Carver again. The deep lines of concern on his face had been replaced by sharp angles of a snarl.

"I wasn't," she whispered. "I tried to stop it…" She felt the tears flood back and closed her eyes again.

"I know," Carver sighed, pulling her back to his chest for a moment.

She heard him whisper over her head to Nate, some names she didn't recognize and one she did. Cousland. She pulled back from him again.

"I'm sorry, Carver. I'm sorry if I got you in trouble. I can go…somewhere. Maybe Is or Varric…" She nearly choked on their names as she realized that they were still in the middle of that mess and pressed her hands to her mouth.

"I'm sure they're fine, but we'll try to track them down. I've got to talk to my boss about this first, okay?" He looked over his shoulder. "Nate?"

Carver gave her another quick hug and then stood up. "I'll be back in a few minutes, Annie."

She watched him walk out of the room as Nate moved to kneel where Carver had just been.

The first thing she noticed was a bandage on his face, just below his left eye, and deep, dark bruises along his cheek and jaw.

"Maker…what happened to you?" She reached out and brushed her fingers lightly against his cheek, next to the bandage. He flinched slightly at the contact, and she jerked her hand away. "I'm sorry," she mumbled and looked down at her hands.

"It's fine. It's just…tender still. Marian…what…are _you_ okay?"

He reached out then, taking her chin in his hand and gently lifting her face back to him.

Instead of answering, she asked, "Did I get Carver in trouble?"

"No," he said firmly, dropping his hand. "We've been monitoring the situation in Kirkwall for a while now. Cousland, our boss, he knows. I think he and Carver were already working on some plan to get you out, but this..."

When his voice trailed off, she closed her eyes again and exhaled slowly. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

"Marian?"

"Hmm…?" She opened her eyes and looked at Nate again. She might have dozed off for a moment when she'd closed her eyes. His eyes were still full of sorrow, but his frown had softened slightly.

"When was the last time you slept?"

"I don't know. Maybe in the car coming here, but I'm not really sure." She paused, realizing she didn't even know what time it was. Then she looked closely at the bandage and bruises again. "You look like shit, Nate."

"Noted," he said, one corner of his mouth curving up the tiniest bit.

She turned her head when she heard Carver repeat "yes, ser" a couple of times as he walked back into the room. When he hung up the phone he met her gaze.

"My boss wants to meet with you. But for right now, you're staying here." He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed heavily before looking over at her again. "You should try to get some sleep. You can have my bed. We'll figure the rest out later."

Marian nodded slowly and let Carver lead her partway down a hall and into his room. He pulled a t-shirt and pair of gym shorts from a drawer and handed them to her. She half listened as he rattled of locations of the bathroom and glasses for water and something else about being in the living room. She just nodded and, when he was done, repeated that she'd be fine.

Exhausted and numb, she changed and curled up under the blankets that smelled like Carver and fell asleep immediately.


	7. Cousland

Marian was huddled against a wall, smoke filling her lungs and blurring her vision. There was a girl, a child, curled in the street, bleeding and still. And every time Marian reached for her, she got shoved back against the wall. She could hear the voices taunting her, chanting for the Champion to help, but she couldn't get close enough.

Marian woke abruptly, heart racing, throat dry, and tears streaming down her cheeks. She tried to sit up but was tangled in sheets, in a bed that was not hers, in a room that was not familiar. Panic mounting, she yanked the blankets back and stumbled out of bed. It wasn't until she was on her feet that she remembered where she was. She took a deep breath and rubbed her hands over her face, wiping the remnants of the nightmare from her cheeks.

After taking a few minutes to compose herself, Marian wandered into the living room. Based on the bright sunshine filling the room, she guessed it was midmorning, though she didn't feel like she'd slept much. Carver was standing by the windows, talking on the phone. Nate was sitting at the kitchen island with a laptop. He looked up when she walked in.

"Hey," he said softly, offering a small smile. "Did you sleep okay?"

Marian shrugged and tried to return the smile.

Nate glanced over at Carver, so engrossed in his phone conversation that he hadn't noticed Marian was awake.

"He's talking to Cousland," Nate explained then nodded his head in the direction of the hallway. "There are clean towels in the bathroom, if you want to shower. And there's fresh coffee in the coffee pot."

Marian opted for a shower first, hoping that washing off the layers of dirt and sweat would help get Kirkwall out of her system. But all she had to wear was the same jeans and sweater she'd had on the night before, both streaked with soot and grime. She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her hair was wet and limp, her eyes were underscored with dark circles, and her cheek and neck were covered in scrapes and scratches. She couldn't even remember where those had come from. And she had told Nate that _he_ looked like shit. She shook her head at her reflection walked out into the living room where Carver proceeded to awkwardly fuss over her, forcing her to eat a piece of toast and drink some coffee before going to meet his boss.

She fidgeted as they drove to the Grey Warden's headquarters in on edge of the city, working at a small hole in the sleeve of her sweater, making it big enough to stick her thumb through by the time they arrived. She quietly followed her brother and Nate through the parking garage and into the elevator. No one spoke as they walked through the bustling office, Marian trying to avoid eye contact with any of the men and women in dark suits that they passed. Carver gestured to a conference room door, leaving her and Nate while he went to let his boss know they were there.

She sat in one of the chairs and watched as Nate did the same. She was more than a little grateful to have a friendly face with her, a friend even. The shower had done little to wash away the sense of unease coursing through her.

Nate smiled at her, breaking the silence. "Everything's going to be fine, Marian."

"I don't want to cause problems for Carver," she replied.

He shook his head. "You won't."

She took a steadying breath, trying to swallow down her anxiety and put on what Isabela always called her "Champion face" as Carver came into the room carrying two cups of coffee. He set one cup down in front of Marian and passed the other to Nate, but Marian's eyes were on the barrel-chested man behind her brother. Dark blonde hair, cropped close, bright green eyes, and a dark scar splitting his left cheek from just under his eye to his earlobe.

"Annie," Carver said, stepping aside, "This is Warden-Commander Aedan Cousland. Commander, my sister, Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall."

"Not anymore," she scoffed, but she stood to shake the hand of her brother's very intimidating boss. "Well met, Commander Cousland."

"And you, Lady Hawke. I'm sorry it had to be under these circumstances." He gestured back to the chair and moved to sit in one next to her. Carver joined Nate on the other side of the table. "Carver says you were unhurt?"

"Just some scrapes and bruises, ser."

"Good," he nodded. "First things first then. Officially, you've been brought in by the Wardens and put under protective custody while we investigate the dissent and civil unrest in Kirkwall." She started to protest and noted the matching scowls on both Carver's and Nate's faces, but Cousland held up both hands and kept talking. "Unofficially, we're letting one of our best Wardens take care of his sister for a little while, keeping her out of the Chantry's claws, and deciding where to go from there when the smoke settles…ah. Bad pun not intended."

"Oh." She stared wide-eyed at the man sitting next to her. "Thank you, Commander. It is appreciated."

"Don't thank me yet," he sighed. "I can't promise how long we'll be able to hold off the Chantry. We're technically outside their jurisdiction, but…" he shrugged. "This situation is kind of unprecedented. But I take family seriously. We won't announce that we have you. Although it sounds like the media has already figured out that you fled the city, and I'm afraid the Wardens won't be able to protect you forever."

"That's fine," she said. "I just need a change of clothes and a decent meal, and I'll be out of your hair." She sounded more confident than she was. Her eyes darted to Carver's glare then Nate's frown before she looked back at the Commander—who was grinning.

"So stubbornness and a general disregard for one's own well-being runs in the family?" He quirked an eyebrow at her.

She matched his grin. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Commander. No Hawke has ever been accused of being stubborn." She glanced over at Carver again and added. "Or reckless." Carver shook his head and bit back a smile.

"Right," the commander drawled. "For now, Howe is assigned to you."

She raised an eyebrow at this, to which the commander responded with an exaggerated shrug. "The fact that his roommate is your brother is purely coincidental." He turned to Carver and Nate and said, "You two have some paperwork to take care of. Send Stroud in on your way out? We'll make this as quick as possible."

The rest of the morning was a blur. Marian spent the entire time in that conference room with Cousland and Stroud—a man who was more mustache than anything else. She gave her recounting of the events leading up to the bombing and the events immediately after, keeping her voice calm and her face as impassive as possible. Neither man seemed overly surprised at her ability to recall specific details about who said what and when things took place.

At lunchtime, Carver brought her a sandwich and ate with her while Cousland and Stroud met privately. Carver reassured her that they were just matching her timeline of events with other reports they'd collected. He also brought news from Isabela and Varric, both of whom were fine and laying low—most likely in the back room of the Hanged Man. He left again when Cousland and Stroud came back with more questions about specific people. She recognized a handful of the names, and she wondered if they were already narrowing in on a list of suspects.

It was late afternoon when they finally finished with their questions. Stroud left without saying anything to her, but Cousland walked her to the front lobby and thanked her for her time, promising that they would give her a chance to rest and recover before bothering her again.

When he shook her hand, he looked her in the eye and said, "I meant what I said—that I take family seriously. You'll _be_ taken care of."

He nodded briefly at Carver and Nate before walking briskly back towards his office. She watched him walk away, a little bewildered at the intensity of his last statement, before turning to her brother.

Carver smiled at her. "Now that that's done, Nate's going to take you back home. I'll go run some errands and get you some things. Clean clothes and stuff. And I'll meet you back there in a bit. Is there anything specific you want? Things you need?"

"I can shop for myself, can't I?" She frowned at him.

"Oh. Uh, no." He rubbed the back of his neck. "We're supposed to, uh…keep you out of sight for a little while. But don't worry, I'm taking Sigrun. She'll pick things out and take care of, you know, girl stuff." He pulled her into a hug and added, "It'll be fine, Annie. I promise."

She whispered her thanks in his ear and followed Nate down the hall to the elevators.

Once they arrived back at the apartment, she pulled off her boots and curled herself up on the corner of the couch. Nate rummaged around in the kitchen for a minute before crossing the room to her and held out an open bottle of beer. She smiled up at him and gratefully took the offered bottle.

"Tell me about your nephew," she requested as he sat on the other end of the couch.

"My nephew?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Or the wallop season. Or your boss. Or something other than Kirkwall or the Chantry."

He nodded then, understanding what she meant, and started talking about his nephew, who was apparently learning to play the guitar.

It didn't take long for her to drift off. When she woke, jolted out of her sleep by a dream, Nate was still sitting next to her, feet propped up on the coffee table next to her nearly untouched beer. He looked over from the book he was reading and gave her a lopsided grin.

"Hi."

"Andraste's ass. I'm sorry, Nate." She sat up quickly, embarrassment burning her cheeks.

"It's fine," he chuckled. "You only slept for a few hours this morning, and I'm guessing you didn't sleep soundly. Carver texted. He should be—"

He was interrupted by the front door opening and Carver marching in with a handful of shopping bags.

"Maker's balls, I'm never going shopping with that woman again," he grumbled as he dropped all but one of bags on the floor. He held out the other one with a grin. "I got Rivaini take-away though."

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Apologies for the delay in updating. I had one of those big, tragic, life-alerting events and...well. Anyway. Back on it. I think. I hope.


	8. Talking

After a lengthy argument, Marian finally convinced Carver to let her sleep on the couch instead of taking his bed. The couch was quite comfortable, and she'd initially fallen asleep quickly. But after only a few hours of sleep she woke with a start, trembling and sweating. She sat up, trying to calm her breathing, trying to slow her heart beat.

After a few minutes, she walked over to the large windows and wrapped her arms around herself. Carver and Nate had a nice apartment, a corner unit with floor-to-ceiling windows on one side and a view of the park and market square just a few blocks away. But even as she stared out at the glittering lights below, her mind kept flashing to the explosion, the bodies and the rubble, the screaming mobs. She kept picturing the faces of the children from the orphanage, the guards in Hightown, her friends in Lowtown. She didn't know how long she been standing there when she heard a squeak of a cabinet.

Nate was in the kitchen.

"You don't have to fumble around in the dark. I'm awake," she said quietly when she spotted him.

"Sorry. Did I wake you up?"

"No, I've been up for a bit." When he turned the tap on to fill his glass with water, she added with a small laugh, "Seriously, Nate. You can turn on the light."

He reached for a switch then, turning on a set of dim lights over the kitchen island.

He looked over at her from the kitchen and frowned. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, made her way back to the couch, and started straightening the blankets she had tangled up during her dream. She spoke quietly as she worked. "I think so. I just…bad dreams. And now I can't…I can't get the images out of my head." She shook her head then, dropping the blankets, and looked back over at him. "You never told me what you did to your face."

He let out a huff of air, almost a laugh. "No, I didn't."

"Warden secrets," she shook her head and pulled the last corner of the blankets straight. "I know, I know. Don't bother asking." She sat on the couch with a sigh, rested her elbows on her knees, and twisted her fingers together. Nate walked over and sat on the coffee table facing her. She stared at the tiny space between her knee and his.

"I got hit in the face by a very large, very drunk Antivan."

Marian looked up at him, her eyebrows raised. "That's it? That's the secret?"

"That's it," he shrugged.

"What a letdown," she scoffed. "I was hoping for an underground cult of nug worshipers. Or maybe a dragon in the Vimmarks."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Marian." He gave her a wry grin.

She returned the grin and asked, "Did you hit him back?"

"I did."

"Did you win?"

He snorted then said, "He is no longer going to be smuggling lyrium and small children, if that's what you mean."

"Ah," she said, the mirth draining out of her when she realized the reality of the situation. She bowed her head and added quietly, "Yes, that's what I meant."

After a long stretch of silence, he nudged her knee with his, drawing her attention back to him, and asked, "Do you want to talk about it? What happened? I don't mean what you told Cousland. I mean what you actually saw."

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"You sure?" He asked. "It helps. Sometimes."

"I think all it will do is turn me into weepy mess. I won't do that to you."

"I don't mind. If it helps."

She opened her eyes again and looked up at him. In the dim light from the kitchen, she couldn't read the expression on his face.

"Have they started releasing names yet? Of who died?" When he shook his head, she continued, "When Carver found me, I was trying to save this girl. She was young. Twelve, maybe? She'd been trampled, I think. And I couldn't get her out of the street. I couldn't move her. I'm not sure if she was even alive."

She felt the tears coming again, burning at the back of her eyes, but Nate reached a hand out and wrapped it around both of hers, saying nothing and letting her talk. She recounted the way the ash swirled through the sky like snowflakes, how once familiar faces were distorted with fear or hatred or pain, and how much she hated her ability to remember details at times like this.

When she stopped talking, Nate gave her hands a gentle squeeze. "I'm so sorry, Marian."

She studied their hands for a moment, noting how tiny hers looked compared to his, and shook her head. "I wish I had been able to stop them. I should have—"

"Stop." He interrupted her, tilting his head down to force her to look him in the eye. "You can't blame yourself for this anymore than I can blame myself for the lives lost before I found that Antivan smuggler."

She sighed and nodded slowly. Knowing that was right and believing it were two different things.

"You should try to sleep," he said, finally releasing her hands. "If you have trouble, you can come and wake me up, and we can talk about whatever you want."

She did have trouble sleeping, waking a few more times from dreams. But she didn't wake Nate up. She didn't have the heart to. Finally, she noticed a small stretch of sunlight peeking through the blinds indicating a decent hour to actually be awake. She didn't feel rested in the slightest, but she got up and dug through the bags of clothes Carver brought home. He and Sigrun had done a decent job—jeans, t-shirts, basic sundries, and everything seemed to be the right size. She pulled out a few things and headed for the shower.

After bathing, dressing, and checking herself in the mirror, she decided she looked just as tired but a little less bedraggled than the day before. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to remember the last time she'd cut it. Sebastian. She'd stopped cutting it after she broke up with Sebastian. Not on purpose, but there it was. The thought made her smile.

She walked down the hall towards the kitchen, considering sharing the observation with Carver and wondering if he'd see the significance, when she heard Nate and Carver talking. She found herself stopping before she was in sight and listening to them.

"…worried about her. Really worried. This…the last year has been…I just worry that she'll keep it all bottled up like she usually does."

"She talked to me last night."

"She did?"

"A little bit, yeah. Told me some of what she saw. It sounded…_Maker_, it sounded awful."

She heard Carver sigh before saying, "I just hope she keeps talking. This is…I mean, I know she's tough. She's seen a lot of terrible things already, but…she hides it, you know? She was doing it yesterday, cracking jokes with Cousland? That's not…it's not real."

"I think she does that because she worries about you," Nate said. Carver snorted, but Nate kept talking, "She's not used to her little brother taking care of her. It's backwards, a bit. So she tries to be the strong one. I do the same thing with my sister."

"Huh," Carver grunted.

She didn't wait for Carver to say anything else. She tucked the conversation into the back of her mind and walked the rest of the way into the kitchen, greeting them both with a smile.

For the next two days, Marian could almost convince herself she was on vacation. Almost. Reading, playing cards, watching wallop matches on television. Telling Nate childhood stories about Carver, hearing Nate tell stories about the Carver she was really only just getting to know, and listening to Carver grumble about all of it.

But there were moments where she would drift. A memory latching onto a more recent memory. A loose thread of conversation reminding her of what she'd left behind. She would find herself staring out the windows, her mind far away from the city of Ansburg on the other side of the glass. Carver would nudge her foot or call her name to draw her back to whatever was going on. And she'd mumble an apology and try to ignore the lines of worry around Carver's eyes.

In those two days, she learned that when Cousland said Nate was "assigned" to her, that meant he had to stay with her at all times. And when Carver said she had to stay "out of sight," that meant she couldn't leave the apartment. She also learned that there was a car with a couple of other Wardens parked on the street, keeping an eye on the building. And that Carver had taken a couple of days off to stay with her but would have to go back to work eventually.

As time passed, she felt the weight of that conversation between Nate and Carver pressing down on her. But it wasn't until the night before Carver went back to work that she found herself able to talk about something other than food or movies or wallop mallets.

"It's going to be weird without you here," she admitted as she stared down at the dark car parked on the street below.

"I'm not _leaving_ leaving," Carver said. She could hear the frown in his voice.

"But with you here, I could pretend I was visiting."

When Carver didn't respond right away, she turned to look at him.

"You know I never really liked Kirkwall," she said, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans and leaning her back against the window. She glanced behind Carver where Nate was sitting on the other side of the apartment with his laptop. Carver looked over her shoulder, following her gaze.

"You're okay with being here with Nate, right?" He dropped his voice low.

Marian nodded, a faint smile on her lips. "Of course. It's not that. I like Nate. I just…as much as I hated it there, I never really thought about leaving. Not seriously, anyway. And now I'm here, and I think…I think it's going to feel more _real_ without you."

"Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it'll help."

Marian laughed. "Don't start sounding smart, Carver. I've had enough life changing events for one year."

"Shut it." He scowled and tossed a pillow from the couch at her. She caught the pillow and lobbed it back at him, laughing a little harder.

When he threw it again, he followed it up with a second pillow. She ducked them both with a shout of protest before retrieving one from the floor and swinging it at his head. He caught it and tugged it out of her hands.

"You're going to lose, Annie."

"Is that a challenge, little brother?" She grinned and armed herself with the other pillow, waiting for his next move.

"How old are you two?"

Marian and Carver both turned to see Nate standing with his arms folded across his chest. They exchanged a quick glance at each other before simultaneously throwing both pillows at him.

"Oh, go soak your head," Nate chuckled as he dodged them. "Both of you."

It was the hardest Marian had laughed in months.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ I don't even know what happened to my updating schedule for this anymore. When do y'all want me to update? Does anyone care?


	9. Sketchbook

"Marian?"

She jerked her head up and looked toward the voice. Nate was standing at the entry to the kitchen, confusion stamped across his face. The kitchen clock read 5:18. She glanced down at herself. She'd fallen asleep at the counter, face on the cold tile, surrounded by sketches of demons and dark alleys and broken bodies. She rubbed at her cheek, hoping to smooth out any lines left by the tiles.

"Maker's breath, Marian…you slept out here?" He walked towards her, but his eyes drifted towards the drawings. "What in Thedas…" He didn't finish his question.

"Sorry." She started trying to pile them up, pull them together. "I didn't mean to leave a mess." She let out a quiet snort and added, "I didn't mean to fall asleep out here."

He reached out and stopped her before she took away one of the last sketches. A faceless mob choking an alleyway, bricks and beams in hand.

"Is this…was this Kirkwall?" He asked, pulling another from her haphazard pile.

She nodded slowly, dropping her hands to her lap. "Eidetic memory is a shitty Gift."

The next sketch he looked at showed a cobblestone square, crumpled bodies, smoldering debris, and a man in the middle, face twisted in agony.

"This is the First Enchanter." His voice was quiet, nearly a whisper. "Are those…"

"Gifted students from the Gallows," she finished for him.

Marian watched as Nate slowly spread the other sketches out. For several minutes, they were both silent, staring down at the grotesque collage in front of them. Marian's eyes lingered on one picture of Sebastian, on his knees, face turned up to the sky. She could still hear him crying out when he realized that Grand Cleric Elthina was dead.

"I'm going to make some tea." Marian nearly jumped, Nate's voice surprising her. "Would you like some?"

She nodded and shuffled all of the pictures back into a pile while Nate put the kettle on.

"Does drawing help?" He asked, leaning against the counter, waiting for the water to boil.

"Not really," she shrugged.

"What does?"

She smiled at him ruefully. "If I knew, I wouldn't be having nightmares a week later."

Nate frowned, and they fell silent again. Marian's eyes drifted back to the pile of pictures. She could tell Nate was watching her. She could tell he was concerned. He was probably trying to think of something to say, some sort of advice or platitude that would make her feel better. Not that either would actually help. She straightened the pile again and looked back up at him.

"Do you think…do you think Cousland would want these?"

Nate glanced at the pile of pictures. "Eidetic memory means you…those are exactly what you saw? It can't hurt to pass them on, I suppose."

She nodded in response and pushed the pile away from her.

Nate pulled the kettle off just before it whistled, even though it wouldn't wake Carver, and poured the water into two mugs. After dropping in bags of tea, earl grey for him and chamomile for her, he nodded in the direction of the living room.

"Come on," he said and picked up both mugs.

She followed him and settled on the corner of the couch. He passed her tea to her and sat next to her, stretching his long legs out on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles.

"Why are you awake?" She asked.

One side of his mouth curled up. "I'm usually awake this early. Under normal circumstances, I'd be either running or in the gym about now."

She shook her head. "That sounds like torture."

"That's what your brother says, too," he chuckled.

"I'm sorry my being here is messing up your normal life."

"Are you kidding me?" Nate raised his eyebrows. "I'm getting paid to hang out with a friend instead of getting shot at or buried in paperwork."

Marian smiled but didn't respond, instead sipping at her tea, her mind drifting back to the drawings. After a few minutes, Nate broke the silence.

"You said you were still having nightmares?" His voice was cautious, neutral, like he was being extra careful to not imply any sense of judgment. Marian nodded without looking at him.

"About Kirkwall?"

She looked up and watched his grey eyes search her face for a moment. Then, setting her tea on the coffee table with a sigh, she pulled her knees up to her chest.

"Those drawings," she started quietly then shook her head. "That's what I see every night. I close my eyes and...it's like being there all over again." She felt the tears building up behind her eyes and tried to blink them back, but they still fell when she finished her thought. "I watch my whole world crumble every night."

"Come here," he said, holding his arm out towards her and gesturing with his hand.

She quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks, and replied, "I'm fine, Nate."

"I'm pretty sure you're not fine, Marian."

"I _have_ to be fine."

"That's the thing," he said. "You don't. Not with me. You've been 'fine' all week. In a few hours, when Carver wakes up and wants to watch reruns of 'The Stolen Throne' again, you can be fine. But right now, with me, you don't have to be fine."

And with that, he shifted closer to her and put his arm around her. She nodded slowly, too tired to argue with him, and let him pull her closer. She rested her head in the crook of his shoulder and curled towards him, the tears returning in full force. He wrapped his other arm around her and whispered, "You don't have to be strong all the time, Marian."

As Marian pressed the palm of her hand against his chest, she told herself she could have a few minutes to cry but nothing more. She had to keep it together—for Carver if nothing else. But as she relaxed into the warmth of Nate's embrace, her mind returned to the way she'd described her nightmares to Nate, and she made a faint connection in the back of her mind, a realization about the feeling of emptiness she hadn't been able to shake off. It was only slightly different than what she'd felt when she'd left Sebastian. When her mother died. When Bethany died. When her father died. And even as she registered the words _loss_ and _grief_ in her mind, she felt her tears waning. She had a vague awareness of Nate's heartbeat against her cheek, of the smell of earl grey tea, and of her own breathing, slowing and steadying.

The next thing she knew, the sun was peeking through the gaps in the blinds and she felt oddly rested.

She glanced up at Nate before slowly pulling away.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, smiling sheepishly. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"There's nothing to apologize for. I'm glad you finally got some sleep, even if it was only an hour."

The smile he gave her in return was not his usual crooked grin but a wide smile, full of warmth and framed with creases at the corners of his mouth. She felt a familiar surge of attraction, the same she'd felt the first night she'd met Nate. It took her a moment to tear her eyes away from that smile and excuse herself, heading for the shower with a quick glance at Carver's closed bedroom door. She was glad she'd woken up before her brother.

When she returned to the living room, Nate and Carver were both standing at the kitchen island, frowning at Nate's laptop.

"Bad news?" She asked, filling a mug with fresh coffee.

Carver glanced over at her, his frown fading slightly. "Hey. No…not bad news, really."

Marian hoisted herself up to sit on the kitchen counter across from them. "Not bad news, really…?" She prompted.

"We were just reading through today's reports about Kirkwall," Nate said, his eyes still on the laptop.

She felt a twist in her gut, but she swallowed it back and asked, "What's going on there?"

Nate and Carver both looked up at her, but it was Carver who asked, "Do you really want to know?"

"I…don't know," she shrugged. "It was your idea that I avoid the news, but…" She shot a quick glance at Nate before finishing, "maybe if I know what's going on now, I'll stop thinking about that night."

Before Carver could respond, Nate nodded, a faint smile on his lips, and started filling her in.

"They quelled the riots a few days ago, but things are still tense. There have been a few incidents. There was another car bomb early this morning."

"Andraste's ass…" She shook her head. "Where?"

"Outside the Alienage." At seeing Marian's scowl, Carver quickly added. "Nobody was hurt. Some kids reported the suspicious car to the guards before the bomb went off."

"Bastards," Marian spat. "The Alienage had _nothing_ to do with any of this."

"There are a few different factions in the city now," Nate explained. "One group, probably the ones behind this bomb, claims the Alienage has an unusually high percentage of Gifted children born."

"It's not true, of course," Carver said. "It's just an excuse for the racism and classism that already existed."

"Let me guess." Marian's voice was bitter. "A group of Hightown elite and fanatical Templars, probably led by Ser Alrik or one of his lackeys?"

Nate and Carver both raised their eyebrows at her.

"Maker's balls, Annie," Carver laughed. "We've been trying to sort out the ringleader of that group all week. If Cousland's in today, maybe I'll ask him if he wants you to come back in."

"I thought you were off today." Marian frowned.

"I was," he said. "Faren called in a favor."

When Carver left for the office that day he took an envelope with him full of the drawings that Marian had done in the middle of the night. He had agreed with Nate that Cousland might find them useful. And when he returned that evening, he had two thick packages for Nate and a bag of food from an Antivan café.

"One's from Cousland. The other is from Sigrun." He handed the packages to Nate before turning to pull out dishes and silverware.

Nate quickly looked at both packages then passed one to Marian.

"This is actually for you. I thought it might be better than using our printer paper and a ballpoint pen," he said with a small smirk before returning to the kitchen to help Carver unpack the take-away containers.

Marian peered into the heavy paper envelope. Inside, she found a sketchbook, spiral bound with a thick cardboard cover, and a set of charcoal pencils. She felt a flutter in her stomach at the thoughtfulness.

Nate was pulling beer out of the refrigerator when she looked back up at him.

"Nate." She paused, waiting for him to look over at her before she said, "Thank you."

He smiled broadly, the same smile he'd given her that morning, and nodded. Carver frowned, looking between the two. "What'd I miss?"

"He bought me a sketchbook," Marian said, trying to sound nonchalant as she set the sketchbook on the coffee table. But she felt her cheeks burn as she said it. And Carver cast a sidelong glance at Nate and failed at biting back the smile that crept across his face.


	10. Escape

Carver had left for work for the day already. Nate was still in his room. Probably awake, but not out yet. Marian suspected he did this to give her some time to herself. But this morning, having time to herself was a terrible idea.

Carver had left his laptop up. And when Marian passed by it to get her morning coffee, the image filling the screen caught her attention. She couldn't _not_ look at it.

She took in the familiar street corner in Lowtown, the dark shapes on the ground that could only be bodies, and the headline:_ Lowtown Riots Rekindled: 7 dead, 13 injured._ And the mural on the wall in the background.

A faceless man in a uniform. A woman in a simple housedress. Between them, a crying child: a blonde boy, no more than six, held fast in the arms of the faceless man. Another little boy with an identical blonde mop of hair was hiding behind the woman. A second man in uniform was behind the first, aiming a rifle at the woman.

Beneath were three names and a date. _Saorise. Dermot. Stephen. 8 Haring 9:32._

It was one of the few murals Marian had painted in Kirkwall that was still intact, having gone ignored by the Viscount and the Chantry in the quiet street in Lowtown. Marian had known Saorise and her twins. She had known the boys were both Gifted. And she had wept as she painted their names on the wall.

Over the years, a dozen or so other names and dates had been added to the mural. Some of the names Marian had added herself. The more recent ones were added by friends of the children and family members killed by Templars.

There seemed to be more names in the picture than Marian remembered. But there were other additions to the mural as well.

Red lines of paint, slashing through the list of names, and a crude version of the Templar's flaming sword all but covering Stephen.

In the span of a single breath, Marian felt her heart shatter. She dropped the empty mug that had been in her hand and backed away from the laptop. When her back hit the counter behind her, she folded her arms tight over her stomach and hunched over herself, as if that could stop the sudden, painful twisting she felt there.

"Marian, what's wrong?"

Nate's voice sounded anxious, but she couldn't seem to let go of herself. She was still staring at the picture of the now defaced mural until Nate stepped between her and the laptop, breaking the trance.

"_Bastards_," she hissed.

She barely got the word out before Nate had his arms around her. She let out a choked sob, and pressed her face into his chest.

"I'm sorry, Marian." He spoke softly into her hair. "Everything's going to be okay. You're going to be okay."

She clung to him as she cried, digging her fingers into his back as she choked out very bitter curse she could think of. Nate held her just as tightly and repeated quiet sympathies and reassurances.

It didn't take long for her to run out of curses and Nate's steady voice to calm her. As the knots in her stomach eased, she relaxed her grip on him, pressing her hands flat on his back and focusing on his heartbeat. Eventually, he loosened his arms and pulled back slightly, looking down at her.

"Better?" He asked.

She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." He shook his head. "It's okay. It really is."

She nodded in response before resting her forehead on his chest for another minute. Then she dropped her arms and pulled away, whispering, "Thank you."

"Do you want to talk?" He asked as he took a step away, giving her some space.

She shook her head. Her thoughts were crowded, a swirl of confusing emotions. He must have seen it.

"Talk to me, Marian." It was more of a plea than a demand.

She looked up at him. The bruises on his cheek had finally faded. The cut was just a faint line now, barely noticeable. But the furrow of his brow was deep, the concern in his eyes evident.

She took a deep breath and let the words tumble out.

"I painted that mural. I knew that family. The Templars claimed the boys had set up traps. They weren't the first family to be killed during a routine 'collection.' But those boys, Dermot and Stephen…everyone loved those boys. Everyone loved Saorise. I painted that for the neighborhood to _heal_. We lit candles there every year. And…those _bastards_ destroyed it. I may have hated that Maker forsaken city, but it was still my _home_. And everything thing is gone. Everything I did there. I just…Andraste's _ass_. I've been stuck here for _two weeks_, and I just…I have _nothing_ left. I feel lost, and I don't know what to do with that. I _hate_ feeling lost."

He waited, like he was making sure she was actually done talking before he spoke. And when he did, his voice was quiet.

"We have to do training, when we start out as recruits, on how to handle trauma. It's not a very consistent thing. It hits everyone differently. One of my first big assignments, we lost one of our team. And for weeks, I had these mood swings, angry rages. I blamed myself, but I tried to take it out on everyone else. My partner at the time was drunk more often than he was sober." He frowned at the memory and shook his head before continuing, "All I'm saying is that it's normal. What you're feeling is normal. You don't have to _do_ anything with the feelings. You just sort of…accept them. Call them what they are, let yourself have them, and focus on the other stuff. Focus on being _here_."

She tilted her head to one side as he spoke, soaking in every word. It was the most she'd ever heard him say all at once, and it wasn't empty platitudes but something that made sense. Like he understood.

"You sound awfully smart," she said finally. When he frowned, she quickly added, "That was a joke. I mean, it's true, but I was being…sorry," she sighed, frustrated. "Defense mechanism for my general inability to handle serious conversations involving my emotions. I am emotionally stunted. I think have a sibling and at least one ex who will agree."

He raised an eyebrow at her babbling. The corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.

"Sorry. I…shit." She let out a small laugh and shook her head. "Making jokes about my need to make jokes. I really need to work on that talking thing."

"Well, you did already start."

"What?"

"The talking thing. You started talking…why don't try to keep going?"

"Oh." She blinked, watching him watch her. His eyes had the faintest hint of amusement in them. "You mean just spill my guts about everything going on in my head?"

"Maybe not everything," he chuckled. "But something."

She knelt to pick up the mug she had dropped, grateful it hadn't broken. She paused in her crouch and thought for a moment, considering the empty mug in her hand. And then, with a sigh, she let herself sink the rest of the way to the floor, leaning against the cabinets and resting her elbows on her knees. Nate joined her on the floor without a word.

"I'm tired," she admitted. "And I'm heartbroken about that mural getting destroyed. And I'm angry that they haven't found the bomber yet. I'm angry that everyone there is still fighting. I'm frightened that the Chantry will send Seekers after me. And I'm tired. I miss my bed. I miss my friends and my stuff, and I'm bloody _exhausted_." She paused, taking a deep breath and blinking back the hot, angry tears that threatened as she spoke. Then, dropping her head, she quietly added, "And I feel guilty that I'm not there to help. I feel guilty for hiding."

"What do you think you would do if you were there?"

"I don't know…" She stared down at the empty mug, turning it in her hands. "I know there's not much I can do. There never has been, but everyone asked me to help anyway, expected me to help. And I always tried, at least. It feels strange to not try but…" She shook her head and looked back up at him. "I can't take care of everyone in Kirkwall. I never could. And it's my job, is it? It's not my responsibility to fix everything."

Nate smiled. "No, it's not."

Marian returned his smile. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Making me say that out loud. That it's not my responsibility." She shook her head again, knowing his grin meant yes, and asked, "Was that enough sharing for now?"

"Yes. That's enough," he chuckled and, in one effortless movement, stood and held his hand out to her. And as he helped her up, he said, "I have an idea."

"Oh?"

"If you swear you won't tell Carver, I'll take you out to breakfast and to the park for a little while. But you'll need a hat. And we'll have to go out the fire exit, so the patrol out front doesn't see us."

Once she'd found one of Carver's Denerim Buccaneers hats and pulled it low to hide her face, Nate took her to a diner for omelets and hash browns, then on a short walk through the outdoor market, and finally to a bench at the edge of the park.

"Maker, this is fantastic," Marian sighed. She pulled the hat off and turned her face to the sun, closing her eyes and relishing the warmth on her face.

Nate chuckled and draped his arm across the back of the bench.

"I'd make some joke about you needing to get out more, but you really _do_ need to get out more."

"Yes. I do." She laughed and looked out across the grass. She watched a young, dark-haired woman playing with a little blonde boy, both of them spinning, arms wide. An elderly man tossing a ball to a mabari. Students from the nearby university standing in line at the coffee cart on the corner.

"When mother died," she said softly, "Sebastian gave me this little book of quotes…you know, one of those ones with quotes from famous people that are supposed to make you feel better? It was…thoughtful, I guess. Most of them didn't mean anything to me. But I remember one…from a Dalish poet, I think, saying something about keeping your face towards the sunshine and your shadows will fall behind you. I usually think they're silly, those cliché inspirational things, but right now I think whoever said it was genius. This, right here, right now, in the sunshine…Maker," she sighed. "Right now I feel like everything is _right_—or, at least, is going to be. I think this is my favorite place ever."

She leaned her head against Nate and closed her eyes again. He dropped his arm from the bench to her shoulder. Just as Marian was drifting off to sleep, she thought she heard Nate whisper, "Mine, too." But she might have already been dreaming.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ So...I made Walt Whitman a Dalish poet. Don't ask. It made sense at the time. Also, the whole mural thing was inspired by the murals painted around Belfast during the Troubles. I saw a little bit of a parallel between the mage-Templar situation and the situation in Northern Ireland. I don't mean to imply it's perfect comparison, but I did borrow a few things from events there, and I thought it was worth pointing out. Credit where credit's due.


	11. Sunburn

When Marian glanced over at Nate from her spot on the couch, he was standing in the kitchen, glass of water in one hand, phone in the other, and a deep frown on his face.

"Everything okay?"

He jerked his head up, clearly startled at her voice.

"What? Yeah…ah, an old friend…" He sighed and tucked the phone in his pocket. "It's nothing."

She frowned to herself. That was an oddly inarticulate response from Nate. She considered asking again but reminded herself that it wasn't really her business.

She'd been reminding herself of that for two weeks—ever since the trip to the park and the argument that followed.

She turned back to the sketchbook open in front of her, but she could feel his eyes on her. When she looked up again, he was watching her intently. His frown was gone, but there was something else in his expression that she couldn't quite read.

"Marian…how are you doing? It seems like we haven't…talked much in a while."

"Oh, I'm fine." She grinned, sounding much more cheerful than she felt. "Sounds like you've got other stuff going on anyway."

"That's not…you don't…" He paused then continued with resignation in his voice. "Okay. If you change your mind, well…I'm around. You know."

From the corner of her eye, she watched him sit down on the other end of the couch with the book he'd been reading. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before turning her attention back to the caricature of Carver she'd been working on.

She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Nate didn't normally stumble with his words. If there was one thing knew about him, it was that when he was unsure about what to say or how to say it, he just kept his thoughts to himself.

But something had shifted that day Nate took her to the park. Something shifted after the argument that followed.

Marian and Nate had returned from the park hours before Carver got home from the office. They had been standing in the kitchen discussing take-away options for dinner when Carver stopped mid-sentence and frowned.

_"Annie, why is your nose red?"_

_"My nose is red?" She looked to Nate for confirmation and drew her brows together when he nodded slowly. "Why is my nose red?" She rubbed her nose with her hand, thinking maybe there was something on it, and immediately recognized the stinging she felt as her rubbing pulled at the skin of her nose. "Shit," she whispered and turned back to Nate, eyes wide, hand covering her nose._

_"Did you…" Carver walked over to her, eyes fixed on her hand. He pulled it away from her nose and narrowed his eyes. "You've got a _sunburn_."_

_"Carver…" she started, but Carver turned away from her sharply and pointed to Nate._

_"Which means _you_ took her somewhere. Cousland said to keep her out of sight. But you took her somewhere."_

_Nate just nodded and calmly replied, "We went to the park."_

_Marian watched Carver's jaw tense, the blood rising in his cheeks. She knew the storm that was coming._

_"Carver, don't." But he wasn't listening to her, his rage turned fully to Nate._

_"You took her out. Against orders. You've read the reports. You know what's going on. You know the Chantry is looking for her. And you took her out. You _snuck_ her out."_

_"I did," Nate said. His voice was even, though Marian could see his shoulders tense as he faced her brother. "And yes, I am aware of what is happening in Kirkwall. I am also aware that there are reports that the Champion has been spotted in Jader."_

_"I don't give a damn what the blighted rumors say. That's my _sister_." Carver's fists were clenched at his side, his eyes locked on Nate's._

_"Carver." Marian tried again to get his attention. _

_"I know who she is. And I know how to do my job." Nate's voice was still composed, but Marian saw a muscle in his neck twitch. _

_"Your _job_? Your _job_ is to keep her safe. Your job is _not_ take her to the bloody park."_

_Nate finally reacted to the anger radiating off of Carver and raised his voice. "We _were_ safe. I wouldn't have taken her out if we weren't. You _know_ that."_

_"Nate, stop," she said firmly._

_"I don't know any—" _

_When Carver took a step towards Nate, Marian raised her voice to match theirs._

_"Andraste's fat ass, will you two stop!"_

_Both men spun towards her. Nate's eyes were wide with surprise. And while Carver's face was still red, his mouth was clamped shut. _

_"Carver Malcolm Hawke you will not talk about me as though I am not here, and you will not fight with your friend over my well-being." She watched as he shot a sidelong glance at Nate and deflated the tiniest bit. Then she turned to Nate._

_"And you, Nathaniel Howe, will not disobey orders again in some stupid attempt to cheer me up—regardless of what happened this morning. I will not have _either_ of you risking your friendship or your jobs over me."_

_Nate opened his mouth to say something, but when Marian arched an eyebrow at him, he snapped it shut. And bowed his head in acquiescence. She looked back at Carver who, instead of nodding, blurted, "What happened this morning?" _

_"Nothing," Marian sighed. "It was nothing."_

_"Bullshit," Nate said. She jerked her head back to him, but he had already turned back to Carver to explain._

_"She had a total breakdown after you left."_

_"She did?" Carver's voice was uncharacteristically quiet._

_"She's not sleeping, she can't contact her friends, and she's been trapped in this apartment for two weeks. She needed something normal."_

_Marian watched Carver nod in understanding then turn to her. And in that moment, he looked every bit like her baby brother who was once afraid of the dark._

_"I'm fine, Carver. I promise."_

That argument lingered with her. _I know who she is. And I know how to do my job._

She had forgotten that she was Nate's job. She had come to Ansburg already thinking of Nate a friend, and she let herself get caught up in his kindness and his concern for her well-being—as well as the small signs of affection he so easily showed her. And it hurt, just a little, to be reminded that he was taking care of her because he had been commanded to. If she was honest with herself, she knew it hurt more than a little.

In the two weeks since that argument, she'd tried to make herself as small as possible. If there was one thing Marian Hawke was good at, it was hiding. She didn't always do it. She definitely hadn't been doing it with Nate. Or Carver, really. But that argument and those words made her realize that by not keeping quiet, she had become a burden. And the last thing she wanted was to cause any more trouble for Carver and Nate than she already had. She'd invaded their home and disrupted their routines. She was, essentially, in the way. So she kept quiet, kept her distance, and, whenever her mind drifted to a memory of sleeping curled up against Nate or of Nate's hand wrapped around hers, she pushed those thoughts aside and tucked them away.

_I know who she is. And I know how to do my job._ Apparently, Nate was quite good at his job.

Marian glanced back over at him. If he had noticed a shift in her behavior, he hadn't said a word.

But now, today, something felt off. He was often quiet, but his silence now seemed off balance somehow. It bothered her. But it wasn't her business. It wasn't _her_ job.

With a sigh, she shook off that bitter thought and turned back to her sketchbook and the drawing of Carver. Doodles and caricatures and comic panels had been her peace offering to her little brother. It was one of the ways she'd learned to hide her Gift when she was younger, one of the things her father had encouraged her to do. If she exaggerated the angle of the jaw, the hook of the nose, the twinkle in the eye, people wouldn't realize how much she actually saw. She still drew Kirkwall, but she was careful to keep those drawings to herself. What she shared, what she worked on when Carver was around, were silly or quirky or anything other than dark. It was something she could do that would make him believe she was fine.

As she added a dimple to Carver's chin, she grinned to herself. He hated when she drew him with the chin dimple. She looked up from her drawing when Carver swung the front door open and greeted her.

"I've got a present for you."

"Really, Carver?" She rolled her eyes. "I'm not a six year old who needs presents to keep me happy."

"And thank the Maker for that!" Isabela chuckled as she pushed past Carver, a cardboard box in hand.

"_Is_?" Marian's eye widened, and she stood abruptly. Isabela shoved the box into Carver's arms and met Marian in the middle of the room in an embrace.

When Marian let out a sob and buried her face in her friend's hair, Isabela squeezed her tighter. "Oh, kitten. I'm so sorry."

Carver set the box down and stood next to Nate, who had slipped into the kitchen when Carver walked in. They both seemed a little caught off guard by her sudden emotion, but Marian didn't care. It meant her efforts over the past two weeks had worked. And it was _Isabela_, who Marian never hid from. Isabela finally pulled back from Marian, wiping away a few of her own stray tears, and smiled brightly at her.

"Now, why don't we look through this box of treasures and send those boys out for food, hmm?"

In the box, Marian found two old photo albums, a small, carved wood box with the few pieces of real jewelry she owned, a stack of letters, tied together with a red ribbon, and a handful of old flashdrives, ones she recognized were full of snapshots of her murals and portraits and commission jobs, in progress, before and after shots, all of her work in Kirkwall in pixelated history. There were a couple of old books with worn covers and dog-eared pages. And, at the bottom, a jacket. A navy blue blazer with copper buttons stamped with crossed axes. It had been her father's, the one thing she'd stubbornly refused to give up when they moved from Ferelden. Years ago, she'd sewn lacing up the back, like an old-fashion corset, to make the blazer fit her smaller frame.

She gently shook it out before slipping her arms into the sleeves. It wasn't her favorite leather jacket, but it was good enough. Maybe even better.

"How is it that you found this and no other clothing?"

Isabela shrugged, her eyes sad. "Your closet was empty. That was in that old trunk with the other stuff."

"My closet was…empty?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, kitten. They…yes, the looting was bad. Your entire block was, well…I got everything from the trunk. No one else could unlock it apparently."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. That meant everything else as gone. Everything. Her whole life, her whole existence, was in this box. She really was starting over.


	12. Isabela

_**A/N:**_Two pre-chapter notes for you all, one quick and one a bit longer.

First, the next chapter will be a bit later than usual because I'll be traveling and internet-less. I'll do my best as soon as I can though.

Second, I just wanted to respond to the Guest review from last week. Yes. I understand. I hope this doesn't sound like an argument because I completely follow what you're saying. But I did want to try and offer an explanation of this particular Hawke in this particular story. It is post-game, so she is going to be a bit different than an in-game Hawke. In-game, this would have been the Hawke who opted for diplomatic responses every time and the Hawke who resisted picking a side until she absolutely had to (The Last Straw). But post-game, she's got a whole lot of emotional turmoil to work through overpowering her "normal" actions. So, yes, she seems a little bit broken at the moment. She's not necessarily going to stay that way, but healing from something that significant can take some time. The other thing worth noting is that, technically, she's in Warden custody. She could, in theory, go into hiding on her own, but not only would she be betraying her only living family, she would end up with the Wardens having to chase after her as well. I hope that makes sense. And I appreciate your comment. I really, really do. And to anyone else reading this far, please feel free to send criticism. I write fanfiction to practice writing and get better. Constructive feedback will not hurt my feelings; it can only help. And I try to reply to every review I get. :)

* * *

In addition to Marian's life in a box, Isabela had also brought a bottle of rum and a deck of cards. It didn't take much to convince Nate and Carver to spend the evening playing Wicked Grace and drinking. And by the end of the night she and Isabela were both singing bawdy sea shanties and giggling like schoolgirls. Carver took the couch, giving up his room to the two women, and Marian curled up in bed with her friend and slept soundly and uninterrupted for the first time in over a month. When she woke in the morning, she had a hangover the size of Sundermount and was alone.

With a groan, she dragged herself out of bed and shuffled down the hallway, just in time to catch Isabela mid-lecture.

"She's going to go mad if you keep her locked up like this, Caver. Trust me. I know you two are close, but you never really spent time with her in Kirkwall. Sebastian nearly crushed her spirit by not letting her _do_ things, by not letting her be herself. Don't do the same thing."

"But it's safest for her here, with us. And I don't think she wants to be out there on her own."

"Andraste's granny pants, Carver. Of course she doesn't. Do you even remember what was going on when you found her? She was alone that night. Like she has been most of the last year. She threw her whole life into trying to save that blighted city, all by herself, and it exploded around her. Literally. _Her whole life_, Carver. When Marian Hawke is in, she's all in. You _know_ that. Six years with Sebastian wasted. Eight years with that city gone. And she was on her own the whole time. You know what she told me last night, before she fell asleep? That if she hides long enough, no one will remember who she is, but they'll all still blame the Champion."

"She said that?" Carver's voice shook, just a little.

"Yes. Her words, exactly. No one will remember who she is, but they'll all still blame the Champion."

Marian didn't remember saying that. But hearing Isabela repeat the word tugged at something in the back of her mind, something she'd been trying to ignore. She blinked back the tears that had welled up in her eyes and took a step back. Only to bump into Nate, who had snuck up behind her. He was frowning, something deep and pained in his eyes. They both turned back towards the kitchen when Carver started talking again.

"That's ridiculous. She's not…she's…_shit_. I thought she was doing okay."

"She _is_ doing okay. That doesn't mean she's not scared. But there's a difference between protecting her and hiding her away. You've got to help her remember how strong she is, remember _who_ she is."

"She's been drawing again," Carver offered, but he sounded unsure.

"Yes, she sits around the house all day with your roommate and doodles. And have you even noticed what's going on between those two? Have you seen the way she looks at him? And the way he _doesn't_ look at her? Sound familiar?"

Marian glanced up at Nate. She hadn't meant to. It was an involuntary reaction. But she saw the emotions flicker across his face: sadness, anger, shame. She looked away quickly, suddenly not wanting to let them talk about Nate—or maybe just not wanting to hear the truth from them—and walked into the room, forcing a cheerful smile.

"Who wants pancakes?"

"Ooh. You know I love your pancakes, kitten. You haven't made me pancakes in ages."

"I'll make coffee." Carver volunteered.

Marian wasn't sure if she should be relieved or annoyed at how quickly they both fell into small talk as they went about the business of making breakfast. There wasn't a single sign that anything serious had been discussed by anyone. But Marian noticed that Nate didn't join them until the batter was already poured for the first pancake. At first, she'd thought maybe he'd gone to shower before coming in, but he was still in his sweats and t-shirt when he came in. She frowned at the pan, wondering where he'd been, wondering if he'd disappeared because of the conversation they'd overheard or if it was just more of his strange mood from the day before. She was just reminding herself that it wasn't really her business when Isabela distracted her with a detailed description of the opening scene in Varric's newest novel.

After they ate, Nate disappeared into his room again, and Marian sat down with Isabela and Carver to show them some of the more recent drawings she'd done, the caricatures and panels. She flipped through pages of Isabela posing on the bow of a pirate ship. Of medieval heroes—of Carver with a sword nearly as big as himself, of her shooting lightning bolts from her fingers, of Nate with a bow and arrow, aiming at some dark shadow in the distance.

She pulled one out to give to Isabela—a picture of her in her thigh high boots and a corset, daggers strapped to her back, a strapping pirate in a hat making doe-eyes at her. She jotted a quick "to the loveliest pirate I know" at the bottom before handing it over with a grin.

Isabela giggled and kissed her on the cheek.

"Maker's balls, Annie," Carver laughed when she handed him one of him fighting a giant dragon. "That's the coolest thing you've ever given me."

"You know," he said after examining it for a minute, "you should sit down in the town square and do caricatures of people for change."

She snorted and, in her best nasally Hightown voice impersonation, said "The Champion does souvenirs now? How far she has fallen."

"What? You'd be good at it." He gestured to the drawing she'd given him. "And no one needs to know you're the Champion. Wear a wig."

Isabela chimed in, "Or a hat. I found this amazing hat shop by the train station."

"As soon as I'm off house arrest, Is, you and I will go hat shopping," Marian laughed.

"I think you'll be off house arrest soon, Marian." Nate interrupted their laughter as he walked in the room. "They've made an arrest."

The room fell silent for several heartbeats, those words hanging heavy in the air. Then all at once, Carver, Marian, and Isabela started asking questions.

Nate just held up a hand. His voice was much more subdued than their queries had been. "I got a memo from Cousland. Right now, the details are classified. Once they tie up a few things, there will be a press conference and announcement." He bowed his head slightly in Marian's direction and added, "I imagine you'll be able to go back to Kirkwall in a few days."

"No," Carver spat. And everyone shifted their attention from Nate to Carver.

"No?" Isabela repeated, head tilted to one side.

Carver frowned and looked his sister in the eye. "I don't think…I don't think you should go back to Kirkwall."

Marian saw the determination in Carver's eyes, like he was prepared to argue with her about it. She glanced across the room at the box Isabela had brought over. It was all she had. There was nothing left for her in Kirkwall. And she'd spent the last two weeks telling herself that she didn't owe Kirkwall a thing. There was no reason to go back. She felt a smile creep across her face as she looked up at her brother again.

"I don't think I want to go back to Kirkwall, Carver."

"You—what?" Carver spluttered.

Marian gave a nonchalant shrug that didn't quite fit the gravity of the conversation. "I don't know where I'll go. Maybe back to Ferelden. But I don't want to go back there."

"Good for you," Isabela said.

Marian turned to her friend, noting her wide smile, and asked, "You're not going to be mad at me?"

"Not at all, kitten. To tell you the truth, Varric and I have been talking about taking an extended vacation from Kirkwall, too. You could come with us, if you want."

Carver, who finally seemed to find his voice again, declared, "You should stay here."

"Here?" Marian blinked at him. That was unexpected.

"In Ansburg, I mean. Not _here_ here." And then he grinned, "Let me be your guy this time."

"Let you be my…what?" She frowned, now thoroughly confused by her brother. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Isabela trying to keep a smile back.

"You always seem to pick where you live for some guy. You ended up in Kirkwall when you ran away from the Blight. And you stayed in Kirkwall for that Chantry prat. I'm the guy this time. Stay in Ansburg. For me. At least for the year."

She opened her mouth and closed it. Twice. And Isabela doubled over in laughter.

"The Blight?" Marian turned abruptly at Nate's voice, having forgotten he was there.

"One of Carver's nicknames," she said, rolling her eyes and hoping she wouldn't have to rehash _that_ story.

"The Blight was a disease who warped and destroyed everything in his path," Carver replied to Nate quickly before turning back to his sister. "I'm serious, Annie. About you staying in town. Move to Ansburg. Please."

Marian ignored Nate, who was frowning, ignored Isabela, who was still snickering, and instead focused on the blank page of her sketchbook while she considered her brother's request.

Move to Ansburg. She wondered for a moment if she could really do it. If she could really leave Kirkwall behind. Isabela had been right. She'd put years of her time and energy into that city. _Wasted_ years of her time and energy. And her thoughts had been hovering over letting go, moving on, and starting over for weeks. She knew she was standing on the precipice of _something_. Maybe it was time she just leapt.

Move to Ansburg. It wasn't her job to take care of Kirkwall or the people there. She wasn't the Champion anymore. Not really. She was just Marian. Just Annie. She realized that if she was truly going to let go of Kirkwall and leave the Champion behind, if no one was going to remember who she was anyway, it was a chance to reinvent herself. To live the life she wanted to live and not the life others demanded of her. Easier said than done. But she could figure out _how_ to do it later.

Move to Ansburg. She looked back up at Carver. She didn't know what she would do for work or where she would live or even how often she would even get to see him once the Wardens had him back on his usual assignments. But she couldn't think of a reason to say no. And looking at the hope written all over her baby brother's face, she could think of a thousand reasons to say yes.

"Okay, Carver. For you, I will stay in Ansburg."


End file.
